


Tenderness Unknown

by Odalis88



Category: Spartacus Series (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-09
Updated: 2013-07-18
Packaged: 2017-12-18 04:41:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 21,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/875742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Odalis88/pseuds/Odalis88
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Agron is still in the midst of mourning the death of his brother, Duro. With the undisclosed intention of ending his son's grieving, Arminius demands Agron accept a slave into his villa, saying that it will make him a "proper Roman man." Unable to defy his father outright, Agron takes in Nasir, but he has no need or desire for a slave. As the pair grow to know each other, a tentative bond of trust emerges, but betrayal looms as lies and secrets are spilled.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Contact

Agron sat on the stone bench overlooking the pristine blue lake on the edge of his property. The surface was still as a mirror and serenely beautiful. He tried to emulate the peace and serenity of the scene before him, this place often lifted his spirits, but thoughts and memories of Duro plagued him and no tranquility would come.

Guilt always accompanied recollections of his brother. If only he’d been quicker or stronger, then maybe he would have been able to fend off Duro’s attackers. Agron ground his teeth at the senselessness, the unnecessary violence of it all. It wasn’t fair.

“Sir?”

Agron turned at Naevia’s soft voice. She was very petite, almost impish in appearance, yet maintained an iron inner core of self-assuredness that he envied. She was not a slave – he did not own any – but a free woman whom Agron hired to clean his villa and prepare occasional meals thrice weekly.

“Naevia?”

“You have a visitor.” Something in the purse of her lips and the pucker of her brow told him that she did not care for whoever had come to call.

Agron moved slowly to greet his guest, trying not to remember all the time Duro had spent here when he was alive. He froze momentarily upon seeing his father standing in the front hall.

He and his father were unerringly similar in looks, a fact that his mother had mentioned often before her death. Agron never told her so, but he’d silently wished that she wouldn’t keep bringing it up; it wasn’t his fault he took after the man.

“Father,” he greeted, slightly inclining his head.

“Son,” Arminius said curtly, eyes following Naevia as she slipped soundlessly into the kitchen.

Agron didn’t speak further. He loved his father, but didn’t particularly like him. Gerold, Arminius’ body slave, stood three steps behind him, head downcast. He was appropriately nondescript, medium height and build, neatly trimmed brown hair, and docile brown eyes. Agron scowled at him, but it wasn’t Gerold he was angry at. It was the issue of slavery where he and his father differed most strongly.

Agron and Duro’s mother had been a slave. She was the kindest, most caring person Agron had ever known, and he had looked on helplessly for years as she was beaten and abused by his father. It was for this reason that Agron despised slavery. He couldn’t stand to see anyone degraded thusly; it reminded him too much of her.

But as much as he wanted to shut Arminius out of his life for the continued cruelty to his remaining slaves, as head of the family, Agron was obligated to show him deference and respect. Not to mention, all of Agron’s fortune and livelihood was tied to his father’s. He couldn’t break bonds.

When Arminius refused to break first words, Agron asked, “Would you care to sit? To what I owe this pleasure?” He indicated a modestly furnished lounge to his right, proud that any mocking in his tone was kept to a minimum.

His father gave a stiff nod before seating himself, leaving Gerold to stand awkwardly in the doorway.

“Son,” Arminius said again, speaking in what he clearly thought was a voice laced with fatherly affection. “It pains me to see you wallow after the death of Duro. You know it is my intention that you should take over the trade when-”

“You die?” Agron couldn’t help those words from slipping out against his will.

Some of the familiar ice returned to his father’s gaze. “Yes,” he said darkly. “But my associates and investors will never consent lest your peculiar indifference in keeping the classes separate cripple our business ventures.”

Agron scowled, foreseeing where this discussion was going, they’d had it many times before. “I have no wish to purchase a slave.” He shot a look at Gerold. “My self-worth is not measured by the number of men I keep under heel.”

But Arminius surprised him. “You will not go to auction. I have taken the liberty of purchasing a house-boy for your use.” He nodded at Gerold, who turned on his heel and headed to the front gates.

“What?”

“You are too soft, all of Capua says this. Perhaps owning a slave will make you a proper Roman.”

If looks could kill, his father would be a pile of ash. Arminius was Roman, but Agron’s mother had been from the lands east of the Rhine. He and Duro had been bullied as children because the others called them “mongrels” and “half-breeds.” Arminius’ only response was to tell them to grow up to be “proper Roman men” and teach those boys a lesson.

Words temporarily failed him under the onslaught of his anger.

“Dominus.”

He turned to see that Gerold had returned with a dark-skinned young man with a mane of black hair. Arminius snapped his fingers and the man stepped forward for inspection. Agron noticed he had an odd gait; it looked as though he walked with some kind of pain, but he could see nothing obviously wrong with him.

“Syrian,” Arminius noted with displeasure, “but good temperament and decent work ethic for the week he spent in my home. A little slow carrying out orders, if truth be told. I suspect house-work didn’t come primary in his training.”

He looked at Agron expectantly, who stared back at him in disbelief, wishing Gerold and this new slave weren’t in the room. They made him feel incredibly self-conscious; he couldn’t ignore them like other Romans did. They were people to him.

“Father, I…” he tried to speak delicately, “appreciate your concern for me after Duro’s death. I’m still in mourning, but I cannot claim ownership over this… man.” He had teetered on the verge of saying “slave,” but couldn’t do it when the slave in question was standing right next to him.

Arminius stood and towered over him, a sight that had absolutely terrified him as a child. It was much less frightening now, especially since he had grown taller than his father in recent years.

“I express my sincerest apologies if you have misconstrued my meaning in coming here today. I am not asking you to accept my gift. You will obey me, or you will find yourself out on the street or thrown in the military, perhaps. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

Arminius smiled salaciously down at him. It gave his face an unpleasant, lop-sided appearance. “Now, I know what you like. I paid extra for this one,” he clapped the slave on his shoulder, who kept his gaze on the floor by his feet. “He was trained specifically on how to please men.”

Agron fought the impulse to throw up, trying desperately to come up with a way to get rid of his father, but Arminius continued speaking as he backed out of the room.

“I miss Duro as well,” he said dispassionately, “but the time for mourning has past. See yourself to bath and fuck that one through the floor. I will call upon you in a few weeks’ time when you are more yourself. We will have further discussion of our joint business ventures at that time.”

Arminius saw himself out and soon Agron found himself alone with the slave. Now able to gaze upon the young man absent his father’s demanding presence, he saw what bad condition he was in. Bruises, nearly indiscernible on his dark skin, marred his face and bare chest. He didn’t have open wounds, but upon closer inspection, faded red stripes adorned both ankles and wrists as though he had been bound.

“Come. I’ll have Naevia run a bath.”

 

Once the water was full, Naevia turned to Agron.

“I’ll take my leave, Sir.”

“Thank you. I’ll see you next…” Agron struggled to remember when she was scheduled to work.

“Tuesday,” she supplied.

“Yes, until then…” Sudden inspiration struck him. “Actually, I’ll need some things Tuesday morning.” He pulled out his coin purse and dumped a sizable number in her dainty hand. Looking over his shoulder self-consciously at the slave, he said, “Would you mind purchasing robes and a tunic for my… well, er…” Agron trailed off uneasily.

“Certainly, Sir.” Naevia’s expression gave away nothing of what she was thinking. With a final nod of her head, she took her leave.

Agron turned back to the slave, glad at the thought of putting some proper clothes on him. He only wore a loincloth-like garment around his waist. It wasn’t that the man wasn’t worth looking at despite the bruises, but Agron needn’t work so hard at ignoring just how appealing he was.

Pushing the thought from his mind, he turned to the man. “I don’t know how long it’s been since you’ve had a proper bath,” quite some time by the looks of him, “so this should feel very good.”

The slave dropped the cloth covering him at once and, still maintaining constant eye-contact with the floor, entered the steaming water.

Agron kept his gaze averted, but turned immediately at the sound of a sharp hiss. No wonder he had an odd gait. “Oh, gods.” The poor man had angry welts, not on his back as was customary of chastisements, but on his backside.

Nasir could have kicked himself for his unintentional outburst. It slipped past his lips before he could censor it, but the wounds on his buttocks stung sharply from contact with the hot bath.

Large hands maneuvered him out of the water and onto his stomach next to the small pool. In spite of his rigorous training to remain placid and malleable for his dominus, he attempted to crawl away from this new master in fear that he would reopen the lesions.

“Shh, little one. I won’t hurt you.”

Nasir panted sharply and forced himself to lie motionless, still anticipating pain.

“Fuck. Stay here, I’ll be right back.”

As dominus withdrew, Nasir seized opportunity to gaze upon the Roman’s retreating form. The size of him was alarming, even larger than his father. He wondered how this master would use him, praying he would at least be given opportunity to heal before being beaten again.

Heavy footfalls signaled dominus’ return. Nasir shut his eyes and forcibly slowed his breathing. He tried to travel somewhere in his mind, to think of a happy memory to escape into before the hurt renewed.

Then something cool soothed his welts and his eyes flew open. Twisting over his shoulder, Nasir saw dominus’ fingers covered in a cold balm carefully tending him. He was stunned; no Roman had ever taken the time to care for his wounds, they had only ever taken an inordinate amount of pleasure in inflicting them.

“Thank you, dominus.”

“My name is Agron.”

Nasir’s gaze unintentionally collided with the Roman’s. He was first struck by the unsettling similarity in features he shared with his father. The pair could be twins separated by the space of a generation. After a couple heartbeats however, he saw the one major difference between them: His eyes.

Master Arminius’ eyes were calculating and threatening. Though he and his son shared the exact shape and color, Master Agron’s eyes were gentle and… concerned.

“What name do you go by?”

Nasir hesitated before giving his true name. So long had he been in slavery that it was second nature to offer his “given” name to Romans. Strange that Agron had not inspired the impulse.

“I am called Tiberius.”


	2. Call me Agron

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Still in mourning over the death of his brother, Agron is forced by his Roman father to take ownership of a Syrian slave.

“I am called Tiberius.”

Agron’s eyes narrowed in suspicion for only a second before returning to the task at hand.

“I will re-anoint your wounds tomorrow,” he said, setting the aloe stem on a side table. “Stand up in the water, be careful not to wet the salve.”

Agron would have left without fretting over him for a wash, but the man did look like he could really use one. He helped Tiberius back into the water and began washing his gently sculpted chest with a sea sponge, glaring when he brushed the collar resting on his neck.

Nasir’s eyes widened, wishing he understood what caused Agron to scowl in anger in such a frightening manner. He probably expected Nasir to tend to his own bath, was probably angry that he was forced to waste so much time on a worthless slave.

“Dominus?”

“Agron,” the Roman growled.

What did that mean? “Dominus?” he tried again.

“No,” eyes lifted to his and the anger was gone. “Call me Agron. I am not your dominus.”

Nasir frowned in spite of himself. His father had made it clear that Agron was his master.

“I am able to wash myself.”

At his words, dominus – Agron – dropped his gaze down Nasir’s bare body. Suddenly, his jaw clenched and eyes shut. The sponge was thrust into his hands before the Roman clamored inelegantly out of the bath.

“Wait!” Nasir never spoke out of turn with any of his previous masters, but he instinctively knew that Agron would not insist upon this. “Have you any wish for me to bathe you?”

“No!”

The Roman was behaving strangely, seemingly caught between agitation and anger. Nasir could not think of what he had done to prompt this.

“Sir?”

“Agron,” he corrected automatically. “No. Finish washing by yourself. I will be in the atrium.” He left before Tiberius could respond.

Nasir felt first a bewildering sting of rejection, then anger for the unwarranted emotion. It was plainly obvious that this new dominus had no use for him, had tried to persuade his father to take him back. Even if what master Arminius said about Agron’s preference for men was true, he evidently found Nasir repulsive or offensive somehow. Was it due to the unsightly marks of his beatings?

What business was it of Nasir’s? But as he scrubbed his shoulder, he was forced to admit that Agron’s rebuff hurt because Nasir was fond of him.

But why? Because he showed you a passing kindness? You are a whore to sell your emotions for a single tender touch.

Nasir rebuked himself. He didn’t have to sell himself to Agron for kindness or anything else. He was already owned.

And he had a job to do.

 

Agron paced around the impluvium, full to the brim from yesterday’s thunderstorm. Anger ripped through him: At his father for forcing a slave on him, at Tiberius for arousing him so greatly without even trying, but primarily inwardly for not having the strength to conduct himself in a proper manner.

With every inch of Tiberius’ skin he’d cleaned, the more of its natural hue shone through and the more beautiful he’d become. Caring for him had felt natural. And when the smaller man had brought his attention to the rest of his body, Agron had noticed for the first time that he was not small everywhere…

Unsated sexual desire warred with his conscience. To touch Tiberius that way, to “fuck him through the floor” as his father suggested, was wrong. He would never be able to forgive himself if he took advantage of another person like that, especially one with no will of his own and no free opinions.

Agron could never use him in that manner. He would have to control his damnable libido around that man if it killed him, which, given his treacherous erection, just might send him to his death.

 

Nasir cleared his throat to get gain dominus’ attention. Each time he addressed Agron thusly, he was corrected. But he would never be able to call Agron by his given name, the instinct had been ingrained in him for the greater part of his life. Severe punishment had followed whenever he’d slipped up in the past.

“Come, I will show you to bed.”

His stomach clenched. Nasir had hoped that he’d be given a brief reprieve, but maybe he’d been wrong about Agron wanting to use him.

Agron wavered before leading Tiberius to the room where Duro had last stayed. It pained him to think of anyone else sleeping here, but no other bedchamber was prepared and Naevia would not be back for days. He stepped aside and motioned for Tiberius to enter.

“You may sleep here.”

Nasir barely had a chance to examine the room before Agron turned to leave.

“Sir? Don’t you… aren’t you planning on fucking me tonight?”

Agron grimaced at the crudeness of those words, and at the spike of desire they shot through him.

“No!” He growled in response, but regretted it instantly when Tiberius slightly recoiled. Agron softened his tone. “I have no wish to lie with a man who sees the act as an unpleasant duty he must see to. I will never touch you that way, Tiberius.”

Nasir remained silent as Agron left, attempting to process what he just heard. His master was lying, he had to be. Why should any Roman care to make that distinction?

But he’d been given very specific instructions by Agron’s father. Arminius grew weary of his son’s mourning and believed Nasir could lift spirits until Agron became “useful” again. Nasir would be required to please Agron or Arminius would be able to reclaim and sell him again.

Walking around the small room, he tried not to think about what might happen if he did not secure his place in Agron’s villa. To distract himself from unpleasant thoughts, Nasir opened a small trunk next to the bed and examined its contents.

It held an assortment of men’s garments, scabbard and sword, and a number of clay and wood toy animal figurines. Very strange. Nasir guessed they belonged to whoever had died, whoever Agron was in mourning for.

Maybe they had been lovers. Was that why he refused to take comfort in Nasir’s body, because it would feel disrespectful to the memory of the deceased?

He closed the trunk and lay on the bed, mindful of his sore backside. It was unbelievably soft, far grander than anything else he had ever slept on. Nasir curled up in the warm coverings, trying not to think about tomorrow or anything else.

He tried to ignore the fact that in endeavoring to obey Arminius’ command, he felt like he was tricking Agron. He didn’t think about how much pain that thought brought him.

 

Nasir woke to sunlight streaming in from the atrium. For several minutes, he allowed himself to lay in the warm, comfortable bed, more relaxed than he had been in ages. It was not often he was given opportunity to enjoy sleep uninterrupted by rough Roman groping or incessant demands on his body.

Resigning himself to the fact that he would need to satisfy Agron this way, he got up and went in search for him. As he walked through the villa, he decided he would need to become more aggressive in his manner, if he were to get Agron to claim him.

Agron sat on the stone bench overlooking his property, where he spent a great deal of his days since Duro died, unable to think of tasks he would rather do to occupy his time. The morning sun cast an unrivaled golden light across the surface of the lake and on the far edge, almost out of his range of sight, a fawn emerged from the forest to drink from the water. It was followed by another deer, presumably its mother.

A faint crunching of grass gained his attention. It was Tiberius, coming to a halt silently next to the bench.

“Care to sit?” Agron moved to make space on the seat next to him.

It looked for a moment as though the slave would accept his offer, but he averted his gaze. “No, thank you.”

Then Agron remembered Tiberius’ wounds and his promise to tend them again in the morning. “Oh! Are you still in pain?” Without waiting for a response, he stood and walked inside. “Follow me.”

Curious about what was going in Agron’s mind, Nasir followed him to the poorly-tended garden in the villa’s peristylium. The Roman knelt down and broke off a piece of the large aloe plant.

“Remove your…” Agron gestured awkwardly at Tiberius’ waistcloth.

Bemused, Nasir obeyed. At the sight of his bare body, he thought he saw the Roman blush and he curtailed a responding smile. Agron gestured him through to the atrium and into the room where he’d spent the night. Nasir found himself on his stomach with Agron applying a generous amount of the cool gel to his welts.

The tenderness and care Agron spent in tending him warmed his blood. When all of the marks were covered in the salve, Nasir turned on his side, facing Agron, allowing him to see evidence of his arousal. It had felt so good, Agron’s fingers on him, caring instead of inflicting discomfort.

“Gratitude, dominus.”

The Roman’s eyes scorched him and caused him to harden further. It was exhilarating to feel this strongly toward his dominus absent orders to pretend to be so. Agron’s eyes darkened with lust and his hand twitched on the bedding, as though he wanted to reach out and stroke Nasir’s length.

Then he stumbled away. “Tiberius! No! I don’t want this, do you understand? I don’t want a slave who feels it is his duty to please me.”

“Sir?”

Agron turned on him and Nasir saw anger directed at him for the first time. “What is my name?”

Nasir’s brow furrowed but Agron was persistent.

“Say my name, damn you!”

“Agron,” Nasir whispered.

“Call me nothing else! I despise slavery and those who own slaves. I think to myself that something is wrong with people who are filled with such fucking arrogance as to claim another person as property. I can’t help but want to lash out at you and all the others who remain under heel of another, calling another man dominus when it is you who should be master of your own fate.”

Then he stormed out of the room. Nasir heard him cross through the atrium before the heavy front doors opened and slammed shut behind him.


	3. Comfort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Advice from a friend over a cup (or 8, but who's counting?) of wine, musings on the past, and comfort in the dark.

Agron adjusted his cowl to make sure his face wasn’t showing before he entered the popina for a drink. If his father learned about him frequenting this place, he’d tan his ass red. Though it was associated with a lower-class of people, Agron enjoyed it; one needn’t worry about politics, climbing the social ladder, or your supposed “friends” smiling in your face while planning to stab you in the back.

If there was any stabbing in a popina, people at least had the decency to do it to your face. Customers here only wanted a drink, maybe a quick fuck with one of the whores in the back or a game of dice, but everyone was upfront about those desires.

Once Agron had wine in hand, he found a semi-secluded corner of the room and sat by himself. Until a wild-looking man with a jug of wine in one hand and a female slave tucked into his side crashed into a seat next to him.

“Greetings, brother!”

Agron smiled grimly. “Greetings, Gannicus.”

“What have we here?” Gannicus asked his companion, who giggled and snuggled into his lap. “Fucking mutt in our whore-house? I haven’t seen you for an age.”

Agron’s mind flashed to the last time he had seen the former gladiator; Agron, Gannicus, and Duro had drunk clear into morning and had to be thrown out of the popina. Gannicus must have seen the sadness in his expression because he kissed the woman and pushed her off his lap so he and Agron could speak.

“How do you fare?” It was a rhetorical question since Agron still wore black in mourning for his brother.

“I saw my father yesterday.”

“Oh, yeah? What did the pompous old shit want with you?”

Agron ground his teeth. “He gave me a slave.”

Gannicus went ridged. “What?”

“He believes it will make me a ‘proper Roman man’.”

Gannicus stood over him and gestured with the hand holding his cup of wine. “Is that who you are now? Fucking patrician, slave-owner now?”

Agron held his hands up in surrender. While Gannicus’ reaction was understandable given that he was a freedman, it was completely unfounded. “I can’t legally own property while he’s alive. As head of the family, my father could take away the villa, throw me into the Roman army, or sell me into slavery if he wants. He didn’t leave me with a choice. Besides, how do you think I’m treating the slave he left me? How long have you fucking known me?”

Gannicus reclaimed his seat, looking contrite. “Apologies.”

“None needed. But I don’t know what to do with him. I don’t want a slave.”

His friend’s brow furrowed. “I fail to grasp your problem. Keep him in your house, you don’t have to order him about.”

Oh, he made it sound so easy. “But what about appearances? My father knows he’s a slave.”

“Let him play the role before Arminius,” Gannicus shrugged. “Before your father, you pretend to be a proper Roman noble, but at heart,” he dropped a heavy hand on Agron’s shoulder. “You are just another low-life like me.”

Agron could not help but laugh at the former gladiator.

Gannicus seemed to summon a woman from the crowd with a twitch of his fingers. “Until next time, brother.”

 

Agron entered his villa cautiously, somewhat sheepishly. It was not often he lost his temper, and even more seldom that he shouted at a defenseless young man who had only ever been degraded and stepped on his entire life. Through the door-less entryway on the other side of the atrium, he saw Tiberius kneeling in the peristylium.

Nasir froze as he heard footfalls behind him. He didn’t know what he expected after Agron had gotten angry and stormed out, but it wasn’t the bulky Roman sitting down on the tiled floor next to him. He waited for Agron to speak first.

“You aren’t required to tend the garden. I never asked it of you.”

“I know. I find myself with an unreasonable quantity of free time; I thought I might take it upon myself to tend your plants.”

Agron swallowed as he remembered how the garden had come about. “When he was a boy of 15 or so, my brother Duro planted these here with the intention of courting a girl in town. They had grown to know each other when our father’s came together to discuss business. Her favorites were the gladiolus lilies.”

“Did they wed?”

“No. Her family did not bless the union. Duro threw himself into military training after that.”

“Did he…” Nasir hesitated before prodding a visibly painful subject for Agron. He asked tentatively, “Is he the one you mourn?”

“Yes.” Agron tore his gaze from the pitiful-looking flowering bulbs to glance at Tiberius. “You wish to know if he died in battle? He did not, but in a foolish brawl in the streets.”

Nasir continued to dig out weeds to give his hands some mindless activity to accomplish while he sat silently next to Agron. He had not known Duro and did not wish to offer the Roman empty words.

“I too had a brother,” Tiberius said unexpectedly.

Agron stared at him. “No longer?”

“I do not know his fate, nor that of my parents.”

“You remember them, then?” He didn’t know why, but this surprised Agron. He had not given thought to Tiberius’ existence before capture, only his life since the collar.

“I was eight when our village was set upon by Roman soldiers. Often I imagine the different paths their lives may have gone. Maybe they had escaped and still endure to this day; the possibility offers the greatest peace to my heart, but it is the most unlikely. They were almost certainly killed during the battle or captured as slaves as I had been.” Unshed tears welled in Nasir’s eyes as he stared at the weeds clutched tightly in his hand. “Every day I pray to the gods that it is the former.”

Agron ached to reach out to comfort him, but he refrained. Instead, he asked, “Are you hungry? It is well past supper-time and I have naught in me but wine.”

Nasir stood and cleared his throat. “I will prepare something.”

“No! It is not your duty to serve me.”

Tiberius looked at him skeptically. “Are you able to cook?”

Agron paused, barely refraining from biting his lip. There was a reason Naevia so often cooked for him; given free reign in the kitchen, he was likely to unwittingly poison himself.

Tiberius seemed to correctly interpret his expression and lack of response for a negative. A small smiled played on the corners of his lips and Agron had the frustrating desire to kiss him there. “I will prepare something,” he repeated, and vanished.

 

Tonight was one of those nights when Agron couldn’t close his eyes without images of Duro plaguing him. His mother and brother had been the only people in the universe to ever unconditionally love him; now they were both gone from this world.

As Agron stared wide-eyed at the dark ceiling, he heard the faint sounds of someone in the throes of a nightmare.

Tiberius.

He moved, absent thought of why but with no thought as to why not, to Tiberius’ bedchamber. The slave writhed and twisted on the pallet, intermittently crying out and shouting in a mixture of Latin and a language that be his native tongue.

Agron caught his shoulders and attempted to wake him, but Tiberius thrashed worse than ever. Only after Agron called his name several times did he seem to come to himself.

Nasir took several deep breaths to calm his thundering heart. Speaking to Agron of his family, his capture, had churned up old memories of his first years as a young pleasure-slave. No matter how much time had past, he couldn’t purge himself of the remembered tortures.

After he gained control of his breathing, he realized he was crying. As he reached up intent on brushing away tears, he became aware of someone holding him in the darkness.

Agron saw terror in Tiberius’ eyes as he looked at him. He wished he knew some way to make the young man less scared of him and to make him realize that Agron only wanted to help.

Nasir stiffened and dropped his gaze, horrified that Agron had witnessed his breakdown. “Apologies, domin-”

“Hey,” Agron interrupted. “None of that nonsense.” Tiberius smiled but it did not reach his eyes. “What haunts you?” he whispered, pulling Tiberius into a warm, enveloping hug.

Nasir buried his face in Agron’s bare shoulder. No one since his lost family had ever comforted him when he cried. He felt so safe in the strong embrace of Agron’s arms. There were no demands being made of him, all the Roman wanted was to soothe him.

He longed to let loose his secrets and a tiny part of himself that he hated wanted to beg Agron to hold him like this for the rest of eternity. It felt so good to be embraced this way.

“My first dominus was a man named Marcus. Every night he would…” Words stuck in Nasir’s throat. For the first time in years, he felt shame and humiliation for what he had been forced to do. He’d long stopped thinking about it, stopped feeling human. But Agron had treated him like a person instead of the worthless slave he’d been told so often he was and it had changed something within him.

Agron clenched his teeth and forced himself to remain silent, not pushing for the Syrian’s painful past. He reached up and cupped the back of Tiberius’ head.

“Marcus forced me to service him every night. Not long after, he began selling me to other nobles. In the beginning I rebelled, but he sent me somewhere to be trained.” Tears leaked out of Nasir’s eyes, but he continued in a strong voice. “The more I fought my fate the more they hurt me, so I learned to take advantage of the situation. If you go along with it, make it seem like it’s your choice, then no one beats you. Well… not always.” Not two days before he was bought by Agron’s father, he was beaten and fucked for the amusement of an audience, that’s how he had gotten the welts on his backside.

“No one will ever do that to you again,” Agron vowed, seething in anger at the thought of anyone abusing a child that way. Tiberius said he had only been eight years old upon capture. “You’re safe here.”

Oh, how Nasir wished that were true. Arminius had power over both he and Agron. Regardless of Agron’s personal feelings or wishes, it was more than feasible that his time here was limited. That thought made him ache almost as much as the memories of his past.

“I’m scared I’ll be sent back,” Nasir whispered into the safety of the darkness, still wrapped in the comfort of Agron’s arms.

“I promise, Tiberius.” Agron pulled back and cupped his face. “I won’t let anyone take you away.” Nasir let Agron wipe the tracks of tears from his cheeks with large thumbs.

As Agron stood to return to his own bed, Tiberius stopped him with one word.

“Nasir.”

He turned. “What?”

“My brother called me Nasir.”

Agron couldn’t stop the corners of his mouth from pulling up into his first real smile since Duro died. “Nasir,” he repeated, liking the way the name felt on his tongue. “I can’t stop the nightmares, but if you don’t want to be alone tonight, you could stay with me.” He couldn’t believe he’d offered, but something deeply primal within him needed to take care of this man, even if sharing a bed would make it more difficult to keep his hands to himself.

Emotions flickered raw across Nasir’s face and Agron hastened to make clear his intentions.

“I offer nothing more than my company in sleep, and ask for nothing in return.”

Nasir’s heart pounded. Was it possible to share a bed and not be used and exploited? He tried to look into Agron’s eyes, but the faint moonlight steaming in from the atrium at his back threw his face into shadow.

Why are you hesitating? This is what you want, what you need in order to secure your place in his villa.

Still, Nasir gave pause before answering. In his current state of mind, if Agron had offered his bed and company for a price, he definitely would have refused.

Swallowing, he nodded.


	4. Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Roman and the slave are slowly beginning to trust each other with secrets of their pasts.

Nasir came awake to such an alien feeling of safety and security that for an instant, he believed himself to be still caught in a dream.

Though they had gone to sleep the previous night on separate sides of the bed, Agron now slumbered curled around him, right arm pillowing Nasir’s neck and the other laid over his waist. Most shocking, was Agron’s thigh wedged high between his legs.

Nasir dared not move a muscle lest he wake the Roman, wishing to soak up the sanctuary of Agron’s hard body pressed against his while he had opportunity.

For an instant, he imagined what it would be like to wake to this feeling every morning. But it was not for a slave to hope for such things. The most he could wish for was to remain in Agron’s house, not as an equal or, gods save him, a lover, but as a lesser, broken creature that would never stand on even footing as the giant Roman.

All coherent thought scattered as Agron shifted subtly around him, groin pressed against the curve of Nasir’s backside. Although his welts had healed substantially given proper treatment at Agron’s insistence, they still stung, however nothing compared to the painful arousal in his cock.

Because he had never known sex to be anything other than a chore to see to, a sneaky way of exhausting his masters so as to gain a modicum of peace, experiencing such heart-pounding stimulation from Agron’s warm hold on him was baffling. Yet despite the mild discomfort and confusion writhing within him, Nasir kept perfectly still, for he treasured nothing more than this undeserved tenderness.

But all too soon, the moment was stolen from him when a sudden crash caused Agron to bolt upright.

“Apologies, Sir.” Naevia rushed into view from the doorway. “I dropped…” Her voice trailed off as she saw Agron and Nasir entangled on the bed. She kept her face level but dropped her gaze. “Excuse me. I will leave the purchases you requested in the sitting room to examine at your leisure.”

Agron let out a breath as she departed, glad of the reminder of clothes for Tiberius – or Nasir, rather. He looked at the Syrian, who was the image of sleepy-debauchery with his disheveled mane of black hair and dark brown, all too-innocent-looking eyes. He scrambled from the bed and threw on the first tunic he laid hands on, barely noticing that the color was a dark-blue.

His face flamed as he gave thought to how he had awoken, entwined with Nasir on his pallet. In truth, he had not believed sleep would find him at all last night, especially given how rampant his restlessness over Duro’s death had been in the silent solitude. How had he found escape with the unfamiliar sensation of a body lying next to his? Agron would have assumed it impossible.

What he did not want to give thought to was how at ease his unconscious mind was with Nasir’s presence, unreservedly wrapping himself around the young man’s body and finding solace there.

After he dressed, Nasir followed him to the front sitting room where Naevia had laid out several tunics and robes.

“These are for you.”

Nasir frowned. No one had ever felt the need to clothe him before. His heart clenched at Agron’s kind gesture, but it also stuttered uneasily. He feared that in being treated like a freedman, Agron was making it harder when the inevitable time came for him to be sold to a new dominus. All of this would be gone.

“Gratitude.”

“I shall hear none. I meant what I said before; I have to need or desire for a slave and I will never allow you to be hurt again. Unfortunately, appearances must be kept up for my father’s sake, but I wish for you to have all the freedoms I enjoy. I want for us to be friends.”

Nasir gifted him with a genuine smile. He’d never had one of those before. “I will be proud to call you friend.”

Agron was momentarily dazed as he saw Nasir smile fully for the first time; it gave him such a contentedly youthful look that it was difficult to reconcile this Nasir with the frightened boy he had comforted last night.

“Something to eat, Sir?” Naevia entered carrying a tray laden with an assortment of breads and a bowl of honey.

“Thank you.” Agron took the plate from her hands and turned to Nasir. “Would you care to share food outside with me?” He started for the courtyard but stopped, turning suddenly. “I nearly forgot. Pick out something you like, I got them for you.”

Nasir looked momentarily perplexed as he took in his choices. He selected a simple, earthy-brown colored tunic and pulled it over his head. Then he looked to Agron, seeming as though he were fighting a smirk.

“You really didn’t, you know.”

Agron huffed. “They are certainly not for me.” He would burst them at the seams.

As much as Nasir tried to hide his teasing tone, it bled through despite his best efforts. “No, you didn’t get them, your woman Naevia did. Typical Roman.”

It was Agron’s turn to smile. “True,” he agreed, now moving to the courtyard with Nasir on his heels. “I did not make actual selection, but if choice were left up to me, we would both be dressed in burlap sacks. And she is not my woman. Her husband would tear you to pieces if he heard those words fall from your lips, little man, the crazy fuck.”

“You hold no love for the man?” For some reason he found the fact that the kindhearted Roman so obviously despised this unknown person deeply amusing.

“Hell no!”

Nasir smiled shyly at the dew-laden grass. “I only meant that she is your housemaid.”

Agron grabbed a piece of bread from the tray, dipped it in the honey, and placed the remainder on the bench where he usually sat to observe the lake. “Naevia has had a difficult life. She met her husband while body slave in a ludus.”

Nasir cautiously took some bread and leaned on the villa’s outer wall, mimicking Agron’s posture. “How did she come to be here?”

Agron shrugged and frowned at the lake as though the 'how' made no difference. “He freed her. Her husband.”

Nasir appreciated that while Agron verbally dismissed the man as a ‘crazy fuck’, he clearly held a measure of respect for him. He desperately wished for more of the tale, but Agron seemed lost in thought. Studying the Roman’s profile, Nasir turned and dropped his gaze when Agron moved to look at him.

“Will you do something for me?”

Why did that simple question send a small fissure of heat through him? “What?”

“I wish for you to take off the collar.”

As suddenly as the warm feeling flooded him, it was gone and ice shut down every internal function in his body. He managed to unthaw his vocal cords enough to croak, “I can’t.”

Agron reached for him but Nasir backed away and seemed to collapse into himself, hunching defensively.

“No! Please don’t, you can’t!” If he was caught without the collar, he would be very publically whipped and tortured for the affront. If that didn’t kill him, he could be sold again to someplace worse than where he had been before Arminius bought him.

“Nasir, please sit.” Agron moved the tray of breads and sat on the far right side of the stone bench and waited as Nasir seated himself stiffly beside him. “My mother was a slave,” Agron stated without preamble.

Nasir lifted his eyes to Agron’s and saw the anguish his voice hid.

“My father’s Roman wife could not bear children, so he chose one of his slaves to impregnate with his heirs. I have no doubt that your experiences make a mockery of my own, but try to imagine my childhood. While my father endeavored to raise me as a ‘proper Roman man’, I saw my mother, the softest, most gentle woman on this earth, punished and degraded for no other reason than she had been labeled a slave. She was merely a human being, as are we all.”

Nasir nodded in sympathy. “The collar reminds you of her, the pain she endured? And it is why you have no use or wish for a slave now?”

“Yes,” Agron stuttered, tremendously taken aback that Nasir had understood so quickly.

“You promised,” Nasir spoke so quietly that Agron was forced to bend down marginally to hear him properly. “You promised I was safe here and that no one would take me away. But if I am caught absent this,” he touched the collar, “your words will prove empty. There will be naught you can do to defy Roman law. I will be caught, punished, and sold.” His voice broke on the last word.

“Who but you and I would know?” Agron persisted. “Not a soul visits me here except Naevia, and she will not tell.” But that was a lie. Arminius would come calling in a fortnight, if not sooner. He would go mad to think that Agron could not handle a slave.

“I am branded.”

A blow to his gut would not have stunned Agron thusly. “Where?” He recalled no brand when he had bathed Nasir upon arrival in his villa.

Nasir felt his face flush. He shifted, lifting his tunic to bare the inside of his left thigh.

“Fuck the gods,” Agron breathed as he saw the letters FUG burned into the skin of his upper thigh, right below his groin. The brand indicated fugitivus, it meant Nasir had been a runaway slave. It was customary to place the mark in a visible location where it would be noticeable to all; it pained him to give thought to why Nasir had been branded in such an intimate area.

“I attempted escape soon after I was captured. I would have done anything to remove myself from Marcus’ home. The resulting punishment was less, I think, because I was a child. It is not an experience I have any wish to repeat.”

Agron pushed down Nasir’s tunic to conceal the mark and pulled him against the side of his body in a one-armed hug. “I shall never allow you to be hurt again. I won’t ask you to risk that.”

As always, Agron amazed him. Nasir leaned into the warm comfort of the Roman’s body, feeling tension in his muscles ebb. He had been sure that upon learning of his brand, Agron’s treatment of him would change. If only he could tell Agron of his father’s true purpose for sending him a slave; Nasir dared not hazard the chance that the gentle Roman would turn from him for the betrayal.

Naevia cleared her throat behind them. “Sir?” Nasir expected Agron to cringe away from him while under the scrutiny of another as he had done this morning, but he only twisted to face her, keeping Nasir tucked into his side.

“You have a visitor.”


	5. Sands

“You have a visitor.”

Nasir’s heart faltered, his first thought of Arminius.

As though his prediction was branded on his forehead, or perhaps simply by reading Nasir’s body language, Agron said softly, “Why don’t you stay here? Eat some more. I’ve not known you long, but I’m convinced you don’t eat sufficiently.” Then he placed the tray on Nasir’s lap and followed Naevia into the villa.

He watched Agron’s retreating form, dipped a piece of bread into the honey, and brought it to his lips, but anxiety racked him and he could not eat.

***

Agron could tell it was Gannicus before he even entered the atrium. His friend exuded a buoyant enthusiasm for life that was unrivaled, and somehow managed to be overpowering even as he paced silently before the front gates.

“Brother! Good Morning!”

“It is such,” Agron agreed. “What do I owe the honor?” He shifted half a step to the left in effort to block Gannicus’ line of sight as the man gave a flirtatious smile to Naevia when she attempted to discretely leave the room. Only after she was out of sight, but not before she shot him a withering glare, did Gannicus speak to Agron.

“I was hoping to entice you into accompanying me to the games. Something tells me I might stand a chance of dragging you out of your hollow of seclusion today.”

“What tells you?”

Gannicus said nothing, but his eyes traveled down Agron’s tunic. It was then that Agron noticed that they were blue, and not the traditional black of mourning. An invisible hand squeezed his heart; how could he have so easily forgotten his brother?

“I… can’t.”

“Hmm…” Gannicus paced animatedly, circling the impluvium, and Agron received sudden clarity.

“You wish to see him.”

The innocent look on Gannicus’ face did not fool him. “See who?”

“The slave you know my father brought here.”

The bounce in his friend’s step seemed to double as he continued to circle the large, atrium, glancing into every side-room he passed. “Slave? Oh, yes! I do recall mention of him. Is he not here? On an errand, perhaps?”

Agron rolled his eyes. “I have never favored the games, as you are well aware.” And he did not see how Gannicus could find such enjoyment in them, seeing as he was a former gladiator.

“We need not attend the games. I’m sure the three of us can think of a multitude of activities to entertain ourselves.”

It was on the tip of his tongue to escort Gannicus out. Instead, he said, “Wait here.” Agron caught a gleeful glint in the wild-man’s eyes before he turned to the courtyard where he left Nasir.

Still unable to eat through the knot in his stomach, Nasir stood as he heard movement on the other side of the door he expected Agron to exit. If Arminius was with him…

It was Agron, quite alone. “My old friend Gannicus has come hoping for a glimpse of you.”

Nasir scowled, unsure as to how he was supposed to react upon hearing that news.

Agron continued, relieving him of any obligation to respond. “He is harmless – essentially harmless. He has been a very close friend to Duro and myself for many years, despite my father’s disapproval of him. As a freedman, I suspect he is simply curious about you. Will you meet him?”

“I – I suppose.”

Agron took a step closer and lowered his voice a degree. “You can say no. I have no preference and will kick his ass out of here should you wish it.”

The left corner of Nasir’s mouth quirked up. “Gratitude. I would like to meet your friend.”

Nasir first noticed upon seeing Gannicus the man’s perfectly mischievous smile. Dissimilar from men like Agron’s father, who masked their expressions with such unerring precision that none could fathom what lay beneath, it was clear by looking into Gannicus’ eyes that wonderfully salacious thoughts were racing through his head. He had heard tales of the great Gannicus, of course, but never before had he seen him in the flesh.

“Greetings.” Gannicus extended his hand toward Nasir, who hesitantly responded in kind. The former gladiator grasped his forearm and shook it forcefully.

“This is Nasir. Nasir, meet Gannicus,” Agron said, bowing slightly to each in turn.

Incapable of forming words past the nervous lump in his throat, Nasir nodded, actively keeping his eyes up, not letting them fall instinctively to the floor.

Agron could see plainly that Nasir was uncomfortable under such intense scrutiny from Gannicus, but as much as he wanted to let his brash friend flounder, he couldn’t do that to Nasir.

“We were just finishing our morning meal; can I offer you something to eat?”

“What have you to drink?”

He scowled at Gannicus. “Is it wise to partake of such so early in the day?”

Collapsing into one of the benches surrounding the impluvium, Gannicus rolled his eyes. “Oh! My apologies, dominus. I know not my own limits.”

Agron could have gutted him where he sat, but Gannicus took his silent, seething anger in stride, openly laughing at him.

“Your brother would have found teasing amusing.”

Saying nothing, Agron merely curled his lip at the former gladiator; any good humor he might have possessed upon seeing him was gone.

Gannicus tried again. “Since you find no joy in watching the games, what say we have our own duel right here?” He turned to Nasir. “Care to learn how to wield a sword?”

Nasir glanced at Agron before answering; he looked livid. His resolve split between wishing to speak with the Roman absent Gannicus’ company and not wanting to be alone with Agron while he raged, Nasir agreed.

Of all the places he expected to be in his life – whorehouse, crucifix, afterlife – sword and shield in hand, fighting a gladiator was not one of them. Agron had produced two sets of weapons and immediately withdrew from Gannicus’ improvised training arena in the villa’s courtyard. Nasir noticed he held the sword and shield housed in the trunk in his room.

“You need to attack! You will never kill your opponent if you are only on guard. Get angry. Again.”

Nasir tried to follow his advice, but the sight of Gannicus coming at him with a pair of lightning-quick blades was intimidating. It was all he could do to prevent the severing of one of his limbs. He looked helplessly to Agron, but the Roman was staring out at the still lake, paying the dueling duo no heed.

After nearly a half hour of this, Gannicus seemed to feel he was beyond assistance, for he turned to Agron. “Join me on the sands! Give me good sport! I shall relinquish to you your old sword.” He offered Agron the hilt of the blade in his hand.

Agron just shook his head.

Gannicus let out a long suffering breath. “It is a blessing Duro is gone from this world so he is spared your sulking and brooding.”

As if it happened in slow-motion, Agron felt the precise moment his control shattered. He stalked to the ‘sands’, wrenched the sword out of Nasir’s limp hand, and threw himself at Gannicus with every ounce of strength he possessed. Though Agron hadn’t wielded a weapon in ages and Gannicus had many more years’ experience, his anger fueled him and soon he had his friend on the defense. Rage and agony writhed within him and he had to release it lest the harmful energy build up and destroy him.

But he didn’t care about that now; all that mattered was avenging his brother’s memory. How dare Gannicus utter Duro’s name in such a manner. For him to even suggest…

Nasir stood frozen as he witnessed Agron pour every painful emotion since the death of his brother into his every movement. Truly frightening was the inhuman ferocity, the unrelenting fury, in his green eyes. Gannicus was clearly able to hold his own in a fight, and Nasir suspected he did not aim to injure, but it was nonetheless alarming to see a man who stood almost a head taller than him try his best to bring him down. How wrong he was to have ever thought he had seen Agron angry. It frightened him more than his unknown future, the thought of what might be done to him by his next dominus.

Afraid of this side of Agron and unsure as to what repercussions would follow should he actually kill Gannicus, Nasir cried out at them to stop.

Agron gave pause at the sound of Nasir’s voice. A fog lifted from his eyes and what he saw horrified him. He had Gannicus pinned to the ground and was pummeling him with the blunt end of his sword.

“How does Duro’s blade feel in your hands?” Gannicus demanded in a rough voice, breath strained as Agron still held position above him. “Do you realize, brother, the insult you deal him in not allowing his spirit to pass to the next world?”

His breathing ragged, though it had nothing to do with the fight, Agron released the blade as if it had burned him and struggled to regain footing.

Gannicus stood also and plunged the sword he held into the ground. He wiped at the blood issuing from a fresh wound on his forehead. “I miss Duro as you do, but he would not wish for you to act as though you are dead as well.”

Agron dimly remembered his father saying words of similar meaning when he had brought Nasir to his villa. The only difference was that Gannicus did not offer them as empty comfort, but because he truly believed them.

“Brother,” he began, but Gannicus spoke over him.

“No apology needed.” He seemed to regain the bounce in his step as he moved forward to clap Agron on the shoulder. “I will take my leave, because I do enjoy the games and if I hasten, I should be able to watch the primus. Perhaps Nasir would escort me out?”

Startled but unwilling to refuse him, Nasir started forward, leaving a somewhat bewildered Agron in the courtyard. Gannicus did not speak until they reached the front gates. Then he spun on his heels and towered menacingly over Nasir.

“I know why you were given to Agron,” Gannicus said in a low, dangerous voice.

Nasir’s heart stopped. “What?”

“Gerold confided in me at the market yesterday his master’s purpose for your placement in Agron’s villa.” His voice lowered still further. “If you hurt him, heaven help me, even the gods will not be able to spare you from my wrath. Any hurts you might have suffered at the hands of the Romans will pale in comparison to those given you by a gladiator. Do not betray his trust.”

Unable to speak to defend himself or deny those truthful accusations, Nasir simply watched as Gannicus threw open the gates and slammed them shut behind him.


	6. Rebirth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Agron finds peace from the pain of Duro's death while Nasir discovers a startling new facet of his personality - selfishness. Thoughts are now straying to his desires rather than the needs of his masters.

Still shaken by Gannicus’ threat, Nasir slowly made his way back to Agron, finding him, not in the courtyard, but in the bedroom where he had bid Nasir to sleep two nights previously. 

Agron looked up as he entered. “Duro slept here. When he lived.” As though he foresaw the words forming on Nasir’s tongue, he continued, “I have no wish for you to move elsewhere. I cannot keep this room entombed in memory of him.”

“Tell me about him?” Nasir sat on the far corner of the soft pallet and looked expectantly at the Roman. 

Agron took a moment to unify his thoughts before he spoke. “I was obligated to join the army at 17 years of age, as was he. It was never my dream to become a soldier and gladly retired when my time drew to an end. But for Duro, fighting was his life. He was such a hothead, always out to prove himself. I think he resented the fact that combat came more naturally to me.”

“I’m sure he didn’t.” Given how enormously Agron loved his brother, Nasir couldn’t imagine Duro holding a grudge over his natural talents.

“He never said such to me, but I know he did. I interfered too much when we were children, always protecting him because our father never did, never letting him face demons on his own.” Agron sat next to Nasir. “Stubbornness was his vice. Even if he knew he could not best his opponent, nothing would stop him from standing up and trying again, until he could stand no more.”

“What is it you miss most about him?”

Agron was silent for several heartbeats before he answered. “Smiling. Life was infinitely more enjoyable when he was around. He found humor in the most unlikely places; I grieve that loss most greatly.”

“You have not lost it.” Nasir laid a comforting hand on Agron’s forearm. “You must not dwell on grief, but rather on the way he made you feel so that you may keep him forever in your heart.”

Turning to Nasir, Agron marveled at him. How could such a young man be able to so succinctly produce the words that eased so much of the ache? “Is that how you recall your own family?”

Nasir swallowed. “Yes. With them I felt safe and loved.” He dropped his gaze, horrified to find unshed tears in his eyes. 

“You are safe here.”

Unwilling to cry in front of Agron or to show how much those words meant to him, Nasir stood. When he did, he noticed the dirt and blood on Agron’s tunic and exposed skin, a result of his encounter with Gannicus. 

“I will prepare you a bath.”

Agron’s brow puckered in a frown. “I have said before-”

“No,” Nasir said with more force than he felt. He knew that Agron did not want a slave, so he needed to find another role to fill. “I ask not for your permission. I order you to bathe. It is time.”

The band around his chest that had grown tighter every hour since Duro’s death loosened as he gave thought to the meaning behind the young man’s words. It was time to end the mourning process. Nasir and Gannicus were right; he should not carry around with him the enormity of his grief, but Duro, as did their mother, would live on within his heart. 

***

“Take off your tunic. I’ll see it washed.”

“No need, Naevia typically…” Agron trailed off as Nasir stood with one hand resting stubbornly on his cocked hip and the other extended expectantly for Agron’s clothes. When he failed to comply at once with Nasir’s order, the hand gestured impatiently. Hiding his amusement, Agron lifted the tunic over his head and threw it at the Syrian.

Nasir caught and dropped it where he stood. “Into the bath.” 

Knowing he had come too far along the process to challenge Nasir’s authority now, Agron stepped into the hot water. But then he saw Nasir, fully clothed and carrying a sea sponge, follow after. 

“Nasir…” he said in warning. 

“I would count it a blessing to get you clean absent errant behavior.” 

“Is that a gentle way of ordering me to behave, little man?”

Nasir stuck out his chin, more bravely than he felt, and sat Agron on the inside ledge of the pool so his chest was partially submerged in water. “It is.”

Agron did smile now, resisting the urge to say how much he delighted in Nasir’s bossiness. It meant that the man was no longer in the mindset of a mindless slave, but felt free to express himself. 

Attempting to keep his face as neutral as possible, Nasir washed evidence of the brawl from Agron’s skin, hoping his expression did not betray his desire to rid himself of tunic and straddle the Roman’s large, muscular body. 

Mentally, he shook himself and returned his roving mind to reality. He’d never had those thoughts until he met Agron. As the sponge traveled lower, he could not help but notice the erection Agron attempted to cover with his hands. 

“May I-” Nasir sighed, the enquiry sounding ridiculous in his mind.

“Yes?”

Steeling himself, he continued in a rush, “May I ask a question? Of an intimate nature?” 

A crease appeared in Agron’s brow. “Speak your mind.”

“It’s true, what your father said about your desire for men?”

Agron appeared even more confused. “Is that your question?”

“Do you – do you desire me?” Of all the times for his voice to fail him, why must it sound low and husky now?

“Nasir,” Agron said, catching his wrists loosely and forcing them face-to-face. “My desires are of no consequence. I have told you of my mother, she was forced to lie with my father and bear him children. I do not want that from you, to resent me because of reasons beyond our control. She didn’t have choice in the matter, but I wish for you to be completely unrestricted in forging your own future, in making your own decisions.”

Agron reached up to cup his face, a tender gesture he was becoming familiar with. 

“I will never make demands of your body. I respect you too much to command that of you.”

Nasir felt both liberation and an overwhelming sense of sadness. Agron was the best man he knew, the only being he’d ever desired to freely touch, and the only one to hold him forever at arm’s length. He finished bathing Agron in silence and toweled him dry. 

“I would see to the garden.”

Agron frowned as Nasir fled the room. He sensed that the young man wished to be alone, but was unsure as to what had prompted the impulse. 

With Gannicus gone and Nasir self-confined to the garden, Agron sat on the bench overlooking the lake. For once, he was not drowning in sorrow over the loss of his brother, but wallowing in loneliness and feeling, inexplicably, abandoned. 

He admonished himself for the foolish thought. Nasir was his own man and they had spent the greater part of the day together; it was only natural the Syrian sought a private moment for himself. The selfish side of him wanted to seek out Nasir and demand his company, but his pride would never allow it. 

Agron observed the lake in silent meditation until the sky turned hues of deep gold mixed with streaks of pink and violet. Naevia would have taken her leave by now, but he stood in search of what she had prepared to eat. 

He was not disappointed; the mouthwatering scent of a full platter of pork sausage and a batch of poppy seed rolls with olives greeted him in the kitchen. Agron prepared two plates, along with a fist-sized portion of grapes, and went to the garden. 

“Nasir.” When the man turned, it was to give him an unabashed smile that made his entire face glow. Agron held out his offering of food.

“Gratitude. I will be but a moment.” Nasir stood and went to wash the soil from his hands. 

When he returned, Agron said, “Your touch works miracles, the plants have not been so alive in years.”

Nasir dropped his gaze to the tiled floor as though embarrassed by the small compliment. “Hardly a miracle. They need only a little attention. A thing denied them by you.” He sat opposite Agron in the garden’s small seating area and took the offered meal. His whole body seemed attuned with the Roman’s every movement even as he maintained a careful eye on his plate. 

“True. It never held much interest to me in the past. The garden was placed there are cared for by Duro before he was immersed in military training.”

“To impress his potential bride?”

Agron nodded, mouth full of a poppy seed roll. Neither of them spoke as they continued to eat. Agron enjoyed the company Nasir provided, akin to what Duro had offered, but the two men’s energies could not be more different. His brother had lived his life with a death-wish, allowing his temper to best him rather than logic, which he held in scant supply. What’s more, Agron never had to guess what Duro was thinking, as he had always said whatever was on his mind. 

He and Nasir clearly did not share the same brotherly bond, but Agron sensed a torrent beneath the Syrian’s collected exterior to which he was not privy. Nasir also seemed to give excess thought to a task before he begun it, unlike Duro, who acted prior to thought given.

By the time he and Agron had finished their meal, Nasir was full to bursting. He allowed himself a brief moment to gaze upon Agron’s profile as the Roman stared absently over the garden. Finally breaking his intense scrutiny, Nasir stood and gathered his plate, holding his hand out for Agron’s. “Allow me.”

The corner of Agron’s mouth turned up as he regarded Nasir. “Leave it. Work always needs doing, but there is no decree that stipulates it may not be delayed a while.” His smirk widened as he took in Nasir’s nonplussed expression and tugged the young man’s plate out of his grasp. 

“If you wish,” Nasir said as Agron piled their dishes beside him on the bench. Then he followed Agron into the atrium.

After a shy glance at the slighter man, Agron turned to his room, eager to greet the softness of his bed.

“Agron!”

Turning suddenly, he gazed at Nasir, openly shocked. Never had the Syrian spoken his name aloud before. It sounded like honey on his lips; he wanted to hear it again. Agron attempted to rearrange his features so as to appear politely inquisitive rather than a love-sick fool. “Yes?”

Nasir could not name the reason why he had stopped Agron from retiring to his room, but his mind flashed to how safe and content he had felt upon waking in the man’s strong embrace this morning. Then he reminded himself that he most certainly was not welcome in the Roman’s bed. Last night had been a singular occurrence. Words froze on his tongue; gratitude for the plethora of clothes bought for his use, for the wholly undeserved respect he was shown in this villa?

Agron took a step toward Nasir, who appeared as though he were desperately holding back a deluge of words. His lips were silently parted and Agron wanted to go to him, plunder his mouth in a kiss that would leave them both weak at the knees, and pull the words out of him. 

Nasir was startled to see how closely Agron had advanced in the space of time where his treacherous thoughts warred within him. The giant, gentle Roman looked hopeful and expectant until Nasir finally bade him a simple, “Goodnight.”

Was the moonlight playing tricks on him, or did Agron seem disappointed at his words? It did not matter, for Nasir was disappointed in his own cowardice for not speaking what was in his heart. But at the end of it all, he was still a slave, and slaves didn’t lust or dream about men who were too good for them or try to slither into their affections through their bed sheets. Where was the honor in that? Agron deserved better.

“Goodnight, Nasir.” 

Nasir clenched his eyes shut and ground his teeth as Agron turned to go. “Pause but a moment!” In tasting temporary freedom, Agron had brought about a terribly dangerous side of him. He now devoted ample thought to what he wanted rather than what his master demanded, and he couldn’t help himself from attempting to take it. 

“I would… May I… I wish…” But how to relay his desires? More than being drawn to Agron, he feared the nightmares would return, the ghosts from his past come back to torment him. Only in Agron’s arms had he been safe from them.

Nasir stared into Agron’s eyes and something unspoken seemed to pass between them. He thought he saw clarity and understanding light the Roman’s expression. 

“Would you care to share company again in sleep?”

Nasir held back a relieved smile and released a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. How had Agron known what he needed?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rather than bothering with my computer tomorrow, I will post Sunday's chapter this evening. I can't wait for you guys to read it ;)


	7. Insights and Betrayals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just as Nasir makes a startling discovery about his feelings for Agron, Arminius makes an unexpected visit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I fear in this chapter, I will make you either love me or hate me. More than likely, it'll be a combination of both.

That morning when Nasir came awake, Agron wasn’t wrapped around him. Eyes still clenched shut against the early morning light, Nasir stretched on the soft pallet. He shifted to his side in preparation to greet the day – a move his muscles protested vehemently. When he finally had no choice but to open his eyes, Nasir received a momentary shock at the sight before him. 

Agron lay facing him, short-cropped, brown hair tousled in every direction, and a warm smile upon his lips. 

“Good morning.”

For some unknown reason, the look on Agron’s face nearly made him blush. In this moment, Nasir could almost believe that Agron held affection for him. “Good morning,” Nasir responded apprehensively. 

“Naevia does not come today.”

Nasir couldn’t prevent his eyes from flickering between the Roman’s still-drowsy, forest-green gaze and his half-parted lips. “Shall I prepare our morning meal?” Anticipating Agron’s protest, Nasir added, “You may clean up after.”

Agron offered Nasir a tired smile. “I will. But allow me a few moments to lie here and wake up properly. I had a fitful sleep.”

“Apologies,” Nasir murmured.

“Your presence was unrelated to my restlessness. Duro visited me last night.”

“He came to you in a dream?”

Agron rubbed the back of his neck and nodded solemnly. 

“What did he do?” Nasir asked, awed. Never had a loved one spoken to him from beyond the veil. 

Agron’s piercing, green eyes bore into Nasir’s. “He told me that it is okay to release grief and sorrow. He said I needn’t feel guilty for not carrying around the burden of loss.”

Unable to think of an adequate response, Nasir gave him a sincere smile and stroked the wrist Agron rested between them. Eventually, Agron’s eyes fluttered shut, but as his breathing indicated, he was still awake. 

Nasir knew he should leave, knew that he had no right to lie here and gaze upon the handsome, gentle Roman. But his newfound selfish self-regard kept him tethered to the spot. 

“Agron,” Nasir whispered into the small space between them. 

Agron’s eyes remained closed but his mouth stretched into a wide grin, revealing his dimples. “Nasir?”

“You failed to satisfactorily answer my question yesterday.”

Agron now looked at him sharply. “I did,” he contradicted. “I relieved you of any duty you might have held to please me carnally. I don’t want that from you and I will never ask it of you.”

Nasir, emboldened by some unknown force, slid his right leg over to lie between Agron’s and shifted subtly on his forearms to hover slightly over the Roman’s supine form, forcing him on his back. “I understand the answer provided, but it was not a response to the question asked. Do you desire me?”

As if of its own accord, Agron’s hand lifted to tuck a hanging lock of black hair behind Nasir’s ear. No, say no. It is wrong to use him in that manner. Agron opened his mouth to say such; instead, what escaped was, “More than I want for air to fill my lungs.”

At his words, Nasir lowered his head and pressed their mouths together. Agron’s hands flew to the back of the Syrian’s head immediately, holding Nasir in place while his tongue begged for entrance at the seal of his lips. 

Obliging him with a groan, Nasir accepted Agron’s tongue and sucked it into the warm cavern of his mouth. It had been ages since he held another man so close that all his limited supply of control was nearly exhausted not mauling the Syrian on his bed. But he refrained from attacking him thusly; it seemed natural that he should simply hold him like this. 

“You desire me? Tell me how.” Nasir’s voice was low and husky as he spoke into Agron’s mouth, the sound making his erection swell further. 

“From the moment I first saw you. When I bathed you and uncovered the beauty of your dark skin, I wanted you.” Agron kissed and licked down Nasir’s neck. “But I could never have you.”

“Why?” Nasir kissed Agron again then his lips burned a trail to bite his right ear. 

Agron growled under the sweet assault. “You know why. It has to be your choice. I could never… I would die before –”

Nasir silenced him with a deep kiss, his hands venturing beneath the hem of Agron’s light bed clothes. Finally feeling the hard expanse of Agron’s muscles beneath his fingertips was as close to rapture as a man like him would experience in a lifetime. His cock hardened until the only measure able to relieve the ache was to rub himself against Agron’s hip. 

“Oh! Fuck the gods!” Agron could remain placid no longer. He rolled with Nasir and pinned him to the pallet. The Syrian didn’t appear to mind his weight; rather he wrapped arms and legs around his body and pulled his head down for another kiss.

Far too long had he dreamt about possessing the right to touch Nasir’s lithe body. He wished for the patience to draw out this moment, but reason did not control his actions this morning. Agron slid a hand up the inside of Nasir’s leg, causing the man’s breath to hitch. 

He paused, out of his mind with want, but unwilling to continue if it was not what Nasir desired. 

Nasir breathed heavily and stared up at Agron’s suddenly anxious face, such a handsome, striking face. The face of the one man able to wrench a worthwhile being out of the hopeless shell of a slave. 

I love Agron. The realization came to him very suddenly as the Roman lay above him, still as a statue, with a hand resting tantalizingly on the inside of his thigh near his knee. Nasir dared not say it aloud, but his heart clenched at the thought of actually feeling the unthinkable. Slaves do not love. 

Wrapping his hands around Agron’s neck, Nasir stroked the short, brown hair with his thumbs. “I have never before said these words and meant them as I do now. I want you to have me. Make me yours.”

Agron descended upon Nasir’s lips while his hand continued up the soft thigh – only to pause again at what he felt there. 

Nasir’s eyes widened in panic as Agron’s fingers stuttered over his brand. He could see Agron’s gaze fall to his collar, then back to his eyes. It seemed as though the Roman had temporarily forgotten that he was a slave. Nasir’s breathing came in sharp gasps now, the thought of being rejected because of reasons beyond his control was unbearable. 

He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could form words, a voice originating from the front hall bellowed, “Agron! Where is your housekeeper, boy?”

If he lived to be one hundred, Nasir could never forget that voice or the man who owned it. Arminius. 

Agron’s expression matched his panic. Before either of them thought to disentangle from each other or jump off the pallet, Arminius entered the bedroom with no invitation. He seemed quite unapologetic of the scene he had walked in on, and merely stood in the doorway, gazing at his son in mild indignation. 

“Where is your house-woman? I was forced to let myself inside.”

Nasir was once again struck by the unerring similarity in features Arminius shared with his son. He still lay pinned beneath Agron, waiting for him to say something, for him to stand up, but Agron didn’t move. It appeared as though he were frozen on the spot. Nasir grasped the Roman’s left forearm and squeezed as hard as he was able, trying to soundlessly break Agron’s trance. 

“Son!” Arminius barked. “I’m certainly pleased that you’ve taken such a great liking to my gift, but I have need to break words with you.”

At the word gift, Agron seemed to come to himself again. He glanced down at Nasir before clambering off the pallet and standing before his father. 

Arminius looked at him strangely, certainly differently than how he had ever gazed upon him before, with almost fierce pride. “I knew this one would lift spirits. I was quite right to pay such an exorbitant amount of coin for him. And you,” he turned to Nasir, who was standing behind Agron. “I thought it a more difficult task, taking my son to bed. Well done.”

Nasir would have gladly given his life to vanish on the spot, or to halt Arminius’ words. Agron turned to look at him with a glower. 

“What?”

“It was all for the best, son,” Arminius continued, brazenly. “You needed to move past Duro’s death. I thought this the most enjoyable method of speeding up the process.”

Agron felt like all the air had been forcibly sucked out of his lungs. All this time, Nasir had been planted with the sole purpose of ending his mourning for his brother? The man he thought he had been getting to know was a fabrication sent by his father to seduce him?

He glared at Nasir accusingly, who maintained unblinking eye contact with the floor. His father spoke on, unaware – or uncaring – of his injured pride. 

“I know I said I would not come for a few weeks’ time, but I have come for a favor.”

Favor? Agron couldn’t think past Nasir’s betrayal. His father never asked for favors, he simply took what he wanted. 

“Gneaus was the sorry fucker I outbid at auction. Ever since, he has been coming to me with increasingly generous offers for the slave. As it seems you have taken quite a liking to him, I wished to speak with you first. Given his… popularity, I thought periodically renting him out –”

“Agron! No!” Nasir reached out and grasped Agron’s arm in both hands, tugging sharply so they were face to face. He could hear the blood pounding in his ears and could not remember ever being more terrified. “Please! Don’t let him –”

“Silence!” Arminius gave Nasir a fiercely disapproving look that promised severe punishment should another protest escape him. 

Agron watched Nasir react to Arminius’ order. His eyes bore into Agron’s for several long heartbeats, pleading desperately, before he released the tight grip on his arm and his eyes fell to the floor by his feet. He was now the image of obedient slave.

His father harrumphed approvingly before addressing Agron once again. “What say you, son? I am eager to take coin from Gneaus, but if you desire more time with him…”

Nasir stood frozen in panic, waiting for Agron’s answer. Surely he wouldn’t… he promised…

When Agron finally did speak, it was in an unfamiliar, coldly detached voice. “Father, thank you for giving me something to turn thoughts from mourning.” He glared at Nasir out of the corner of his eye. “Do with the Syrian what you will. I am finished with him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 8 will be posted Monday morning.


	8. Hopeless

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know if I need to add any additional warnings. If after reading this someone thinks I should, I will.

Two weeks later

Nasir lay on an unremarkable Roman woman’s bed, tied by his wrists and ankles to the frame. She had left him near an hour ago to partake of a meal; he knew not which one, for he did not even know what time of day it was.

He imagined her pretty, well-cared for fingers caressing a bowl full of cherries and carefully choosing one to place between her lips. Nasir closed his eyes and saw her chewing, then grabbing her throat as she choked on the pit. She gasped and struggled in vain to breathe, but soon succumbed to death. It would take him far longer to die from starvation absent her to release him, but he was prepared to greet death at its doorstep.

Bell-like laughter in the hall indicated that the gods would not be so kind as to make his fantasy a reality. The woman entered a moment later and collapsed next to him on her bed. Her breath tickled his shoulder as her hand trailed down his body to grasp his cock. He silently willed it to remain limp, but the drugs given him at her command caused it to thicken and throb beneath her fingers.

Nasir shut his eyes and turned his face toward the wall. She clambered atop his body and impaled herself on him, indifferent to the fact that his heart and mind were not enamored in the act. If he had held food in his stomach, he would have thrown it up ages ago.

All he wanted was to die. A desire that, if the gods consented to give him a modicum of peace, would be granted him soon after returning to Arminius’ villa. Ever since he had been taken out of Agron’s care, his value as a pleasure slave had decreased substantially when he did not adequately perform for the Romans who purchased time with him.

He had expected that his poor performance would result in a beating strong enough to release him from the pain of life, but Arminius found enough customers content with simply using his body absent him participating in any real way. As long as coin filled Arminius’ purse, he was satisfied, and Nasir remained, for the most part, physically unharmed.

The woman raked her nails down his torso. Nasir winced only when she caught an earlier scratch and tugged the wound open. Would she never be sated? He almost wished he were free of the restraints merely so he could wear her out quickly and be done with her.

Nasir did not track the number of orgasms she had, but she finally fell asleep next to him. She had not released his wrists or ankles, but it did not inconvenience him. He had nowhere to run to.

He longed for a dreamless sleep while given opportunity, but his mind could not find peace past his never-ceasing fury. He had known better than to venture beyond his station, had known not to trust in the honor of a Roman, not to hope in a better life or dream of the future.

Fucking Agron. He had caused optimism to bloom within his chest and as a result, Nasir had taken down the wall surrounding his heart stone by stone until it became vulnerable to attack at the most unexpected moment.

His only solace came in the surprising form of Gerold, Arminius’ body slave. He brought extra food and medicine to soothe minor hurts as he was able. Nasir did not refuse his aid, even though it often kept death at bay, because it was such a rare kindness that he could not strike it from this hostile world.

Would that he found his demise peacefully in sleep. To close his eyes, release his conscious mind from thought, and know no more. But whenever he slumbered, visions of the giant Roman tortured him more than any inflicted pain in his lifetime as a slave. He remembered how it had felt to be held, to be given the illusion of safety, and it made his soul scream out to the gods to finally show mercy and end his life before he went mad with the gentle memories.

***

Naevia paused in the peristylium in her customary cleaning of the villa to gaze upon the garden. Where before it had been overgrown chaos, it was now hacked to ruin. Turning sadly from the derelict foliage, she moved to put away the linens she carried before going in search of Agron. Though it was nearly nightfall, she had not seen him all day, but knew where he must be – where he had been for days on end.

With the air of approaching a wild animal, Naevia walked cautiously to the room Agron had hardly left in a fortnight. Not his own bedroom, but the one used by his brother before his death.

“Sir?” She tried to square her shoulders and appear confident, but trembling fingers gave away her anxiety.

Agron didn’t give any indication that he had heard her; he merely lay on the pallet, which he had not allowed her to freshen in two weeks, staring at the ceiling. She took his silence as permission to continue.

“I have prepared you a meal. Do you wish me to bring it to you before I take my leave?”

“No.”

His voice was void of all emotion and inflection. It pained Naevia to see him like this, but it wasn’t her place or within her ability to do anything to alter his temperament.

“Very well. It is in the kitchen, should you desire it later.” But he wouldn’t, of that she was certain. He may eat a bite periodically, but Agron hadn’t eaten a proper meal since Arminius had taken away the Syrian slave.

Relieved to exit Agron’s villa, Naevia walked quickly and with purpose, not home to greet Crixus, but to the popina. She pulled her cowl up to cover her face as she entered the noisy tavern that reeked of wine and spirits. It took her a moment to catalogue her unpleasant surroundings before finally spying the person she sought.

The sight of him made her lip curl; he sat with one whore tucked into his arm and another between his legs. As he groped the one beside him, his right arm lifted a jug of wine to his lips.

Naevia fortified her resolve and strode over to where the man sat.

“Apologies, sir. I require a private word.”

Though she was covered from head to toe in a thick traveling tunic, Gannicus’ eyes roved her body as though she were nude. “Who seeks my company?”

Naevia removed her cowl. “I seek not your company, but wish to speak with you absent an audience.”

He snorted at her and turned to kiss the woman under his arm.

“I would speak to you regarding the wellbeing of Agron.”

Gannicus focused harder on the woman before him. Yes, the housemaid from Agron’s villa. He gave a long-suffering sigh. “Can we not break words tomorrow? What matter is of such importance?”

Before he could return to his whores, Naevia said forcefully, “It is a matter of life and death. Or do you wish another dear friend to pass to the afterlife?”

Pinning her with an aggravated look, he extricated himself from the two women and led her to a private room in the back.

“Speak quickly.”

“Are you aware of the depression Agron suffers? Do you hold no love for your old friend?”

The former gladiator crossed his arms and leaned against the back wall. “I attempted visit to his villa not three days ago, and twice the week before. He was not home. You would have me hunt him down and force my company upon him?”

“He has not left his room in well over a week!” Naevia softened her tone. “I worry deeply for him. Ever since the slave has gone, Agron simply lies there. He no longer eats and before long will wither away.”

Gannicus’ brow furrowed. “You believe absence of the shit Nasir is responsible for this? His only objective was to cheer Agron of thoughts of Duro. He must have failed to carry out his dominus’ orders if he is no longer with Agron. Tell him to put the fucker from his thoughts.”

Naevia nearly forgot that the man before her was a deadly warrior with arms thicker than her waist and somehow resisted the urge to shake sense into him. “I know not the reason why they are no longer together, but he was different in the presence of the slave. He was happy. You must do something.”

“What can I do?” Gannicus kicked himself off the wall and moved to stand above her. “Run the shit through with my sword? I promised worse if he were ever to betray Agron.”

“Please.” Naevia felt tears well in her eyes and fall down her cheeks. “Agron has only ever been kind and just to me. It pains me to see him in such profound pain while I am unable to offer assistance or comfort. You are the only one who loves him as I do.”

Gannicus cursed and ran a hand through his hair.

***

He silently stalked Gerold through the market until he had opening to pull him into a dark alcove, unseen by passersby. The slave gasped and attempted to fend off his hold until he realized who he was.

“Gannicus! You gave me a fright!”

The former gladiator grinned in response. “I have questions for you. It would be very unlucky for you should my queries fall on the wrong ears.”

Gerold gave the alcove a nervous once-over to ensure that they were alone. “Speak then.”

“What know you of Agron and the boy Nasir?”

“Nasir?”

“The Syrian slave your master brought to his son.”

Clarity entered Gerold’s expression. “Tiberius, yes. I know of him. Poor boy.”

“Poor boy?” Gannicus mocked in disbelief. “He tricked and betrayed my friend, my brother, and all but rendered him inert to the world. You dare to call him poor boy?”

Gerold spoke resolutely, “I have never seen a young man so hopelessly withdrawn in all my years. He was not so before meeting Agron. He truly yearns for death.”

“I will aid him in his passing,” Gannicus said, hand clenching on his belt where usually hung his sword.

“No, you won’t! It takes all my energies to keep him alive when all he truly wants is to die and escape his pain. How would you fare after having lost your heart?”

Gannicus felt as though he and Gerold were speaking two different tongues. “What madness grips you?”

“For the short time they knew each other, Agron held Tiberius’ heart. Though he denies it, I believe it is still so. Now that Agron has cast him aside, he no longer possesses the will to live.”

Gannicus growled even as Gerold continued in an increasingly determined voice.

“I have a plan to reunite them but cannot do it alone. Do you know of the man they call Spartacus?”


	9. Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> By the work of their friends, Agron and Nasir have been maneuvered together to determine if they are able to move past their volatile anger and trust issues with each other.

“This is a thing I would not have guessed, sweet Naevia. For such a tender flower to have ties to the rebel Spartacus.”

Crixus growled at Gannicus but Naevia answered calmly, “It was Spartacus who helped free me of bondage in the ludus. That is how I came to cross paths with Crixus –”

“And our paths have never since parted.”

Naevia gave Crixus an adoring smile as they walked through the outskirts of Capua in the direction of the forest. Unseen by the lovers, Gannicus rolled his eyes.

“Gerold is a fool to place such confidence in Spartacus and his hoard.”

“Speak louder,” Crixus whispered, glancing at the buildings surrounding them as if he expected to see Romans with their heads lolling out the windows trying to listen. “And the entire city will know our intent.”

Gannicus’ expression plainly said that he favored open battle to creeping about in the shadows, but he did not say such aloud. The three walked in silence until, in a seemingly deserted clearing of woods, a band of four men surrounded them, weapons pointed at their hearts.

Naevia stepped forward with hands raised in surrender. “We come for peaceful words with Spartacus.”

A man emerged from the shadow cast by a thick pine tree. While the others were dressed in subligaria with crossing leather shoulder pieces, this man wore more finely made armor. “Crixus? Naevia? What words do you seek with me?”

“Spartacus,” Crixus greeted, coming forward to clasp his forearm in salutation. “We would have aid in freeing a villa within the city.”

“It is no small task you speak of, to overtake a villa in the heart of Roman territory –”

Gannicus guffawed. “I expected as such. He offers lofty words and hope to slaves, but does not have courage to back boast.”

Spartacus smirked at him. “Did I not only last night send prayer to the gods for a challenge in spilling Roman blood, Lugo? Given their eagerness to die, I have deemed the endeavor too simple. I welcome prospect. Come, let us speak in private.”

***

Gannicus did not pause before the gate of Agron’s villa, but strode in as though he possessed every right to enter. As Naevia said, he found Agron in a bedchamber, staring hollowly at the ceiling.

“You make no move to greet me, brother?”

“Apologies,” Agron said in a vacant voice.

Gannicus sat on the pallet near Agron’s feet. “I will not mince words. I bear troubling news, spoken by many in the marketplace. The rebel Spartacus moves into the city, attacking villas.”

“I own no slaves to liberate.”

“Indeed. Would that Arminius could claim the same.”

Agron lifted his head a fraction to gaze skeptically at Gannicus. “You hold concern for my father?”

Gannicus let escape a bark of laughter. “I bear no love for the shit. But if he falls, his house and fortune go with him, the legacy of Duro to follow in his wake.”

Returning his head to the bedding, Agron sighed. “You bear false tongue. It is not as you describe.”

“You should go, defend your father’s house,” Gannicus persisted. “The people of Capua will talk of your disloyalty if you leave him unprotected. You will never again have peace.”

Agron pushed himself into a sitting position to glare at his friend. “What are you hiding from me… brother?”

Gannicus dropped his gaze, unable to look into Agron’s suspicious face any longer. “I overheard Arminius’ name explicitly. His mistreatment of slaves is well known, he is prime target for Spartacus. You must insert yourself into his house under the guise of learning the business – you must go to save your father’s life.”

***

Agron walked the halls of his father’s villa as memories hit him like a stoning. He and Duro stole Arminius’ armor and played in that recess near the kitchen. He had received a black eye in punishment for tarnishing prized belongings. Lessons on how to wield a sword were given in the courtyard. Agron remembered the first time little Duro had bested him in a fight; his father, who had been watching them spar, accused Agron of being weak and showing mercy. He’d then come at Agron so fiercely that he’d nearly broken his forearm.

He had been six years of age when he saw his father smash a vase into a slave’s skull in the atrium. Not three years after, Arminius had all but beaten a slave to death for a minor insubordination. Agron didn’t even recall what the disobedience had been, only that he had been horrified that his father was capable of such violence.

A small clutch of female slaves moved with purpose toward the kitchen, likely to begin preparations for supper. For an instant, he saw his mother among them.

Fuck Gannicus’ guidance. He hated this villa and would rather aid in its downfall than offer assistance in protecting it. The fact that his father would likely demise with it did not deter him in the least; the old man deserved his fate at Spartacus’ hand should the rebels descend.

Why had he come here?

“Dominius?”

Agron turned a fierce glower to Gerold, who quickly amended his words.

“Lord Agron, I am to show you to your room.”

Gerold turned on heel and gave Agron no choice but to follow after him. Arminius’ house was far larger and grander than his own, but having grown up within these walls, he knew them better than the back of his own hand.

“Someone will call upon you when food is served.”

And he left without allowing Agron the chance to refuse offer of food. He didn’t know how long he lay in bed, unmoving and intensely regretful that he had come here, but soon a male slave collected him for supper.

He and his father ate in silence. Or rather, his father ate. Agron secreted the majority of his food in the folds and pockets of his robes and only ate when Arminius glanced up. The old man did not appear troubled as to his son’s dour humor, instead he complimented Agron on his fine Roman disposition. He saw the dark mood favorably, thinking Agron had finally taken after him in temperament.

After their meal, a number of Arminius’ business associates came for drink and discussion. Disinclined about the prospect of spending the evening with Arminius and his acquaintances, and much to his father’s displeasure, Agron attempted to take his leave.

Arminius cornered him out of sight of his friends, grabbing a fistful of his hair and slamming him into a wall. His father’s mood could change quicker than Agron could blink, especially when the man had partaken of drink with his meal, but he was far too used to this care. Admittedly, it had been a far more seldom occurrence since he had acquired his own home.

“What’s wrong with you, boy? I thought you had put youthful foolishness in your past, I thought you prepared to be involved in the trade. Is that not your purpose in being here? You will not embarrass me in front of these men… Worthless as you are, you are the only thing left to carry on my legacy. If there is an ounce of Roman blood in you, you will obey me and include yourself in this gathering.”

Agron opened his mouth to respond that Arminius had bled any residual Roman blood out of him ages ago, but Gerold’s voice interrupted him.

“Apologies, dominius.” He bowed low to Arminius. “An urgent matter requires Lord Agron’s attention.”

If his father had been any less drunk, Agron was sure he’d have pressed for what this “urgent matter” was. But in this state, Arminius simply gave him a condemning glower and shoved Gerold aside as he returned to his guests.

Agron turned expectantly to the slave, already listing in his head every place in the villa where he would be spared his father stumbling on him. But Gerold did not speak of anything that needed his attention.

“If you crave a private moment with your thoughts, dominus never goes to the cellar. You will be quite alone there and free of interruptions.”

Unsure as to what he should think about his father’s body slave aiding him in escaping Arminius’ gathering, his feet took him to the partially earth-sunken basement at Gerold’s counsel. The cells there were used to house slaves after a disobedient act had angered his father, though it was rarely occupied anymore.

It took his eyes several seconds to adjust to the darkness, the only light originating from the small, barred windows lining the very top of the walls at intervals of about 6 feet. Nothing had changed since his youth, grasses and weeds at ground-level still grew and hung in through the little windows, and the smell of damp earth still filled his nostrils. It reminded him of all the times he and Duro had stolen away down here in jest or simply wishing to avoid detection by their father.

Agron continued to walk absently through the cells, but the flickering light of a candle caught his attention. He followed after it and turned a corner, stunned at the sight that met him.

The darkness of the basement meant that only a black profile of the man was visible from this distance, but Agron recognized the shape immediately – Nasir. He sat against the back wall of a cell, face turned sideways to stare through the bars and out one small window to the outside world. Sitting alone in the dimness that encompassed the cellar, the Syrian looked especially small.

The candle light flickered against his right shoulder, displaying skin matted with dirt. Walking until only the cell bars and the space of several feet separated them, Agron could now see his face in the light from the window.

He could not help but catalogue Nasir’s injuries. Dried blood covered the lower half of his face as if he’d recently broken his nose, but from this angle it did not appear crooked. The eye nearest Agron was swollen nearly shut and the imprint of a hand darkened his throat beneath the slave’s collar.

“Nasir.” Despite all the hurt and betrayal he had caused, Agron still needed to see him.

Nasir turned slowly and glared at the last person he’d ever expected to set eyes on again. He took savage pleasure in the shock on the Roman’s face as his horror-struck gaze drank in Nasir’s battered condition.

“Dominus?” he responded aggressively.

Agron’s eyes narrowed. “I thought you were for auction,” he said with venom.

“I am too costly to put to cart so soon. You must inquire with my master if you wish to purchase time with me. Until then, I have no further words to break.” Nasir tore his eyes away from Agron and returned to gazing out the window.

Agron scowled at the reminder of Nasir’s master. “I have no need to seek Arminius’ permission. As his son, I have rights to his possessions. That makes me your dominus.”

Nasir did not shift his gaze from the window. “It would appear as such.”

“Would you then follow my orders? Service me at my command should I so desire?”

As Nasir turned to glare at him once more, Agron saw none of the young man who had been under his roof. Gone was the quiet, submissive slave, and gone was the bold man tasting freedom for the first time. This was the face of a man who had been kicked by life one time too many and lashed out at everyone who neared him.

“I will not.”

“You dare disobey your dominus?”

“I disobey you, you lying fuck!” Nasir had not meant for that to slip out, but he had not been so angry at anyone in his entire life. It hurt almost past endurance to think how foolish he had been to place his trust in Agron when he had claimed that he was safe, that no one would ever hurt him again. Everyone lied in the end; why had he believed this Roman would be any different?

“I’m a liar?” Agron grasped the bars of Nasir’s cell as he shook in indignation. “You lied to me from the beginning. All the time you were under my roof, you were simply following orders from my father. I tried to give you freedom, happiness. I tried to be your friend, but you were only pretending.”

Agron was breathing heavily, heart pounding at the still-fresh betrayal. But even as angry as he was, as much as he wanted to strike out at Nasir for the treachery, he could not help but wince when the Syrian struggled to stand. It was clear that the injuries to his face were not the worst of them as he held himself against the wall, panting from the effort to remain upright.

The exertion caused his voice to be strained, but he spoke harshly. “Do you recall the night you came upon me in the midst of a nightmare? When you invited me to share in the comfort of your company? The following morning I woke to you wrapped around me, I had never felt so protected and never wanted it to end. I yearned for you to hold me like that when you were awake and aware of who you lay next to. It was from that moment on that I no longer spared thought or action to Arminius’ orders.”

The muscles in Agron’s hands ached as he clutched the cell bars tighter still. “Why – why did you not inform me of my father’s intent?”

Nasir shook his head at him in an emotion akin to pity, his anger ebbing. “You do not know what it is like. To be a slave. I feared you would turn from me upon discovery, and I was right. You allowed me to be taken away after promising that I was safe in your care.”

“I…” But Agron had no words to counter this.

Nasir continued mercilessly, salting his wounds. “Do you know how many people have had me since then? How many old men’s cocks I was forced to service, the number of women to use me as though I were –” His voice finally broke under the pain of reality. “I was nothing to them. You were the only one to make me feel worthwhile, and you threw me to the dogs like all the others.”

His only thought of comforting other man, Agron went for the door of the cage, merely to find it locked. He fought fruitlessly with it for several seconds before turning in search of its key.

Nasir fell to tears the instant Agron’s arms encircled him, bearing the weight his wounded leg no longer carried. How could the Roman simply hold him and erase his wrath and resentment with such ease? He never wanted to let go.

“Did they hurt you? The men and women you were made to…” Agron did not want to finish.

“No,” Nasir said into his chest. “This is Arminius’ doing.”

“What?” He felt like he could kill his father with bare hands.

“The blame falls to me for provoking him. I wanted this. But I wanted it to be worse.”

“Worse?” Agron ran a hand through Nasir’s matted hair. “Any more might have resulted in your death.”

When Nasir did not respond beyond a shuddering sob, Agron realized the sickening truth, and it made him feel like shit for his part in returning the Syrian to this life. “Oh, Nasir. Forgive me.” Agron pulled back and cupped his face, mindful of his injuries. “Forgive me.” Then he leaned down, intent on pressing a kiss to his lips, but terrified screams from the floor above gave him pause.

Agron turned and squinted into the darkness. He had just reached the entrance of Nasir’s cell when a figure rushed him, shoving him back and slamming the gate closed – locking him and Nasir inside.


	10. Life of Value

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Agron and Nasir appear to have reconciled, but Arminius' villa has been overtaken by Spartacus and the pair find themselves trapped. Two questions have been posed by the rebel leader: If only one life may be spared, who should receive the sword -- Arminius or Agron? Arminius or Nasir?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> German Translations at End Notes

Nasir ground his teeth at the stranger who had locked Agron inside the cell with him. The man was near his height, but three times as broad. It was ironic, just yesterday Nasir would have not hesitated to allow this man to take his life, but now it was all he could do to prevent himself getting on his knees and begging to be spared death.

Three blade- and spear-wielding individuals, one woman and two men, descended the cellar stairs. The first man turned to them and called in a gravelly voice that Nasir couldn’t understand.

“Saxa. Hol Spartacus. Sie sind hier.” The woman, tall and slender with a wealth of dirty blond hair, laughed, spun on her heel, and returned to the main floor at the man’s words.

Agron’s head reeled at a language he had not heard or spoken since his mother had died. He tugged uselessly on the cell door and snarled, “Laß uns umgehend frei, Du feiger scheiβe!”

Nasir gaped as Agron said something to the intruders in their own tongue. Where had he learned that?

“Halt Dein Maul,” the short, thick man laughed dismissively, ignoring his demand to release them.

Agron growled and shook the bars of the cage as though it was his intention to rip them from the walls. He struggled ceaselessly until the woman sent to summon Spartacus returned with three men at her elbow. The first Agron didn’t know, but he appeared to be the rebel leader, if the way in which he held himself and the finer armor he possessed were any indication. The next man’s face was obscured with a thick cowl, despite the darkness of the basement. There was the vaguest hint of familiarity in the back of Agron’s mind that he could not place. He saw red when he recognized the last man.

“Crixus!” Agron bellowed, renewing his efforts to free himself of the cage. The fucking Gaul ignored him, his face betraying no emotion of any kind.

The one with the cowl leaned to whisper something in Spartacus’ ear, who nodded subtly before addressing Agron.

“I am Spartacus. I have been told you are the dominus of this villa.”

“He’s not!”

Agron turned at Nasir’s voice. He was still leaning heavily on the back wall, but spoke fearlessly to the band of rebels.

“He is not dominus. The man you seek is called –” Nasir broke off sharply. No matter his own feelings, Arminius was still Agron’s father, and he couldn’t give him up. Would Agron ever forgive him the act? They had only just managed to return to the other's good graces.

“Lugo.” Nasir squinted to see the man who’d spoken; it was the one wearing the cowl. The widely-muscled man seemed to take this as a signal, for he again spoke to Agron in his native tongue.

“Du bist von unserem Blut. Gib uns den kleinen Mann und du sind die frei zu gehen.”

Nasir didn’t know what had been said, but Agron let loose a low growl borne deep in his chest and moved to stand protectively in front of him. It was ever frustrating to not understand what was going on around him but with Agron shielding him, he harbored no fear.

Agron's vision darkened at Lugo's offer, his freedom for the price of Nasir's. “Nie.” His tone promised bloodshed but it only made Spartacus laugh.

“You are garbed nobleman’s robes but speak as if born from the lands east of the Rhine. Whom do you claim as your kin?”

Undaunted by the coward before him – who was forced to keep him caged in order to converse – Agron said truthfully, “My mother’s people originated east of the Rhine. My father is Roman.”

In the next moment, Arminius was thrown bodily in the open space between the cell and the rebels.

“Here he is,” one of Spartacus’ men announced, dusting off his hands dramatically as though handling the Roman had sullied them.

“You are master here?” Spartacus tone plainly said he already knew the answer to his own question but expected one regardless.

“I demand that you leave this villa at once, you filthy dogs!”

Crixus sidestepped Spartacus and gave Arminius a swift kick in the gut, causing him to double over in pain. Spartacus held out an arm to prevent further assault.

“You are in luck. I find myself in a generous mood this evening. Only one more Roman need die tonight.” He bent down and grabbed Arminius’ face, turning it to face Agron and Nasir. “I will act at your command. You or your son – which life holds greater value for you?”

Nasir looked into Arminius’ face as the man considered Spartacus’ words. Every time he looked at the Roman, he was struck with how much he favored Agron. It was tremendously disconcerting to see the features he held to heart on the face of a man he hated.

As Agron stared into Arminius’ eyes, he saw anger burning there; not anguish at having to choose between his life and that of his son, but fury that the ones demanding answer were lesser human beings in his eyes – slaves.

“Well?” Spartacus asked, gazing at Agron as though attempting to impart knowledge through his stare. When Arminius did not answer, Spartacus spoke to Agron.

“What of you? Whose life should be spared?”

Though no loyalty yet remained between himself and Arminius, Agron would loathe the selfish decision to save his own flesh above that of his only remaining family. Duro would have been ashamed at the betrayal of their family name.

“I would have you spare my father’s life.”

Spartacus released Arminius and stood, pointing his sword at Nasir through the bars of the cell. “And if the choice was between your father and the slave you so valiantly defend, would you answer the same?”

Nasir drew in a sharp breath as he anticipated Agron’s answer. Of course he would choose the life of his own father over that of a…

But Agron moved as lightening, launching himself at the bars and wrenching the blade from Spartacus’ grasp absent time for the rebel leader to step out of reach.

“You will not touch him,” Agron vowed in a deadly rumble, positioning himself again between Nasir and Spartacus’ men.

As he stood facing them, ready for battle, he heard familiar laughter behind the rebels. It was the man in the cowl, who removed it with a small flourish. When Agron saw who it was, his anger doubled. It took every last drop of self-restraint in him not to heave the sword in his hands at his friend.

“Gannicus! What the fuck is this?”

The former gladiator displayed no outward fear, but the only reason he stood such was that Agron was still trapped in the cell. If he’d been free, Gannicus would already be a bloody pulp on the floor.

“You do not appreciate my test, Agron? It was not my idea, to torture you thusly. It was Naevia and Gerold’s intent to again join your hearts.” He gestured at Nasir.

“Is that the reason for the fucking Gaul’s presence? Naevia?” Agron looked to Crixus, who had been standing back, unreasonably quiet for such a meddlesome, irksome man. Inseparable as he and Naevia were, Crixus would never have allowed her to plan such risky doings absent his assistance.

“She would not have seen you put to grass in the endeavor. My company assures that you did not fuck up and get yourself killed in attempt on the villa,” Crixus spoke harshly. Clearly, there was no love lost between the pair of them, but Agron was not bothered by this fact.

Agron threw his next accusation at Gannicus. “What of the theatrics? Could you have not come to me first?”

“I needed to be sure of your devotion. Do you forgive me, brother?”

It was on the tip of Agron’s tongue to lash out at him, but only a fool made enemies while still locked in a cage. At the same time, he possessed the desire to thank Gannicus on bended knee for returning him to Nasir, it was only the manner in which this had been done that he took issue with.

“I forgive you. Now,” his gaze slid to Spartacus, “release us.”

The rebel leader laughed, not unkindly, and ordered the cell door unlocked.

Agron flipped the sword in the air and caught it by the blade. He handed it by the hilt to Spartacus and looped an arm around Nasir’s shoulders to offer aid in walking out. He could see it pained the Syrian fiercely, but the young man never once protested.

“You can be no son of mine, as worthless as you are,” Arminius spat from his position on the floor, coming slowly to his feet. Agron had nearly forgotten his presence. “That whore who birthed you must have taken another man to her thighs to produce such a weakling. Consorting with slaves, taking one to heart,” he said the word as if it were a curse, sneering at Nasir. “There is no noble, Roman blood in you.”

Agron shook at the insult directed at his mother. Lucky for the old man, he did not lash out in anger.

But it made no difference; Arminius seized a dagger from the belt of the nearest rebel and threw himself at Agron.

Nasir had no warning before Agron shoved him aside, far out of the path of Arminius’ blade. The next few seconds were elongated before him:

Agron’s hands held up defensively to block expected blow.

Arminius’s face, contorted in insane rage, as he lunged at his son.

Spartacus, a ferocious battle cry on his lips, intercepting the attack.

Arminius gasping and clutching his chest in hopeless effort to staunch the blood pouring from his wound.

Nasir had witnessed anger before, but never such a staggering break with reality. He watched Arminius bleed out and felt a large hand on his shoulder.

“My deepest apologies, Agron. The seed of your father’s anger is rooted in me. Had I not –”

“No, Nasir.” Agron turned his face and cupped his bruised cheek with care. “Do not place blame on your shoulders. He was sick… long before you gained my heart.”

“Your heart?” Nasir hardly dared believe his ears. Never had he dreamed to possess such a treasure. After witnessing how Agron had defended him to Spartacus' men, he knew the Roman would walk through hell to keep him safe. “You hold mine as well.”

Agron smiled at him an instant before taunts and jeers came from the rebels. He had forgotten their audience. But Agron did not draw away from him under scrutiny of so many eyes. Rather he wrapped a bracing arm around Nasir's shoulders to aid in standing and affectionately tucked a lock of hair behind his ear before brushing fingers down the side of his face.

Gannicus stepped forward. He glanced down at Arminius’s lifeless body, then to Agron. On his face was a rare expression of compassion, but he did not speak such sentiments aloud. “Now you have a choice to make, brother. You may remain here and inherit Arminius’ holdings and fortune, or seek your own fate beyond the fucking reach of the Romans.”

Agron’s eyes traveled to Nasir. He would never be able to live life absent reminders of old tortures at the hands of the Romans should he linger in Capua. His Syrian might find passing pleasures here, but lasting contentment would be ever diminished.

Agron could possess all the coin in Rome, but absent Nasir’s happiness to accompany it, all would prove for naught. He returned his gaze to Gannicus, and there was a superior glint in his friend’s eyes, as though his decision were branded on his forehead for all to see.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking with me this long, you wonderful readers! The epilogue will be posted tomorrow. 
> 
> German Translations:  
> \- Fetch Spartacus. They are here.  
> \- Release us at once, you cowardly shit!  
> \- Shut your mouth.  
> \- You are of our blood. Give us little man and you may walk free.  
> \- Never.


	11. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Agron and Nasir live happily far from the grasp of the Romans. Their relationship is complete but for one aspect Agron is withholding. Nasir won't stop until he receives all from his man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **This chapter contains explicit material, but there isn't a way to change the rating on just one chapter. I feel like raising the entire story to Explicit would be misleading, but I'll do it if readers wish it**

Nasir returned from town carrying small parcels of spelt, beets, fennel, apricots, and figs, among other necessities. Every time his eyes cast upon the small cottage now called home, a smile stretched his lips. It was small and still in need of repairs, but he’d never adored a place more.

He stored the food and went out to the little pasture where a dozen goats bleated and grazed peacefully. Predictably, this was where the man he sought often came to meditate. Nasir snuck up behind him where he sat on an upturned bucket and wrapped arms around his torso.

Agron sighed in contentment as Nasir’s arms encircled him. Neither spoke immediately, but were satisfied just by this simple contact.

“I made good trade. Bergio offered sizable portion of crop in exchange for the remaining cheese.” He and Agron took turns journeying into town to sell cheese made from their small herd of goats.

“He favors you.” Agron tried to hide the bitterness and jealousy in his tone.

Nasir kissed the side of his face, arms tightening around his chest and hands clenching into fists. “He may look upon me to his heart’s content. I have eyes only for one man, and it is not Bergio.”

Agron turned at the slight pressure Nasir exerted on his cheek and met his lips in a chaste kiss. He pulled back the instant Nasir began to deepen the caress.

“Darkness will fall shortly. We should tend the –”

“I have already seen to it.”

Agron’s mouth quirked up at the corner. “Are you a mind-reader now? Able to discern my thoughts before I speak them?”

“Whatever remains incomplete when night falls, will await us come daybreak.”

Nasir intertwined their fingers and led Agron inside the cottage. Once in the main room, he released Agron’s hand and went to the kitchen.

“Prepare food enough for yourself. I have already eaten.”

Nasir called back, “As have I, on the journey from town.”

Agron scowled as he heard Nasir continue to rummage and work in the kitchen. What was his purpose if not making a meal?

He emerged a minute later carrying a small pitcher of unknown contents and a jug of wine, the latter of which he held out for Agron to carry. Then he chose a pair of matching cups and walked farther into the house.

“Come.”

It did not occur to Agron for a second to disobey, but he continued to frown as he followed the Syrian.

Nasir led Agron to their bedroom. It was a place that, despite his efforts to the contrary, had been used exclusively for sleep in the four weeks since they had fled Capua. After sitting all brought items on the side table, Nasir stood before Agron and leaned into his body.

Agron jerked back at once. “I forgot to close and lock the gate. I will be but a moment.”

Nasir felt the now-familiar stab of rejection as Agron pulled back. When he reached the hall, Nasir called desperately, “Why do you turn from me?” He had meant for the words to be an angry accusation, but the quiver in his throat betrayed his hurt.

“What?” Agron asked, seemingly confused by the question.

“Do I repulse you?” Now that he had given voice to his fears, Nasir found them flowing more easily. “Can you not bear my touch after so many have used me? Ruined me?”

Agron scowled deeply at Nasir’s words as though they enraged him. “ _You are not ruined_ , but the strongest person I know. That you are able to love, find peace, to function at all after a lifetime of abuse is a miracle from the gods. I laud you and hold you in the highest esteem.”

“I would not have your esteem. Your gentle kindness has brought me from brink of death.” How could he relay that every time Agron drew away from him, it made him feel _less_ , feel unworthy. All the shame felt when condemned to slavery slammed into him with enough power to force all air from lungs. “How may my heart thrive absent your touch to give it life?”

Agron broke eye contact to stare at the scrubbed wood floor. “I do not wish to be like them, Nasir. The ones to take your body absent regard for the man. It is not why I hold you to heart.”

Nasir fell silent as he pondered Agron’s meaning. His heart swelled at Agron's sacrifice, to forgo the physical in effort to prevent painful memories from haunting him. Then a heated smile lit his features. “Do not concern yourself with such thoughts. Worry, rather, with regards to your own well-being. It is _I_ who intend to take _your_ body.”

Nasir grabbed twin fistfuls of Agron’s tunic and spun him around, pushing him backwards until he fell onto the pallet. Agron growled in pleasure when Nasir straddled him and leaned up to meet him in a passionate kiss.

While their mouths were joined, Nasir tugged at the hem of his tunic and pulled it up over his head. Agron moaned as Nasir’s hands hungrily mapped his body, then traveled lower to where he throbbed with want for his Syrian.

Nasir held Agron’s gaze as he reached for the pitcher he’d brought from the kitchen. He pressed a hand to Agron’s shoulder to keep him flat on the pallet and poured the substance over his chest.

“Fuck!” Agron gasped as warmed honey coated his torso and cursed when Nasir bent to lick it off. With each lash of that tongue, he felt his control slipping. If Nasir continued to torture him in this manner, he’d finish before either of them wanted him to.

After he was cleaned of the honey, Agron cupped the back of Nasir’s head and sampled his lips, tasting the sweet nectar upon them. Then Agron rolled until Nasir lay beneath him. Impatiently, he tugged off Nasir’s tunic and began trailing hot kisses down his torso, pausing to give ample attention to his hardened nipples.

“You are certain this is what you want?” Agron’s hot breath burned where it fell upon Nasir’s skin.

He swallowed past a knot in his throat. Unable to speak, Nasir nodded. Yes, this was what he desired more than anything since being free of Capua and the Romans.

Nasir’s heart jumped erratically at the pleasure given by his man’s lips. Then Agron abruptly turned his attention to Nasir’s erection. He gasped in utter shock as Agron took him into his mouth. No one had ever done this for him before; his Roman masters would sooner die than touch him like this. It had always been his job to please, not the other way around.

He fisted his hands in the bedding. It was all he could do not to thrust into the warm cavern of Agron’s mouth, for he knew from experience how unpleasant it was to gag when a “lover” was too forceful. He would not last if Agron continued in his ministrations, but when he said such aloud, Agron simply hummed around his length and sucked with more fervor. Nasir was lost the moment Agron cradled his sac in a tender palm.

Agron almost climaxed at the sound of Nasir’s release, but he continued his attentions until the body above him stopped shuddering. He peppered kisses on the inside of Nasir’s thigh and over the brand that would remain until the day he died, reveling in the fact that after so long, he was able to touch him like this.

“Come here,” Nasir murmured, fingers weaving through his short hair.

Agron climbed up his body and was immediately pulled down into a fierce kiss.

“Gratitude.” Nasir gave him one last passionate kiss and then brought Agron’s hand to his lips. He kissed the large palm before sucking the index finger into his mouth.

Agron’s eyes almost rolled back into his head as Nasir wet his fingers, imagining those lips surrounding his length. He could feel his cock leaking onto Nasir’s leg in anticipation of what was to come.

Unable to wait any longer, Nasir released Agron fingers and led them to his opening. He let out a hiss as Agron plied him slowly. His cock twitched on his stomach, but was unable to harden so quickly after release.

More than the feel of Nasir’s body squeezing his fingers, was the passion-drunk look on his face as Agron stretched him. He could stare at his man forever.

“Are you ready?” Agron needed to be sure he didn’t hurt him.

Nasir gave him a tender look that seared his soul. “Make me yours.” Then he smiled wickedly, licked a strip up his palm, and stroked Agron’s hardness.

He maintained eye contact as he lifted the Syrian’s leg to rest on his shoulder. Reaching down between them, Agron held himself steady while he breached Nasir. The body beneath him tensed briefly until he was fully seated. He stilled his movements until he received a small nod from Nasir, only then did he begin thrusting gently.

Nasir couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think about anything other than the pleasure Agron elicited. Agron owned him in a way no other Roman had before.

No, Agron didn’t own him. Nasir gave himself to Agron, and for the first time, he understood the difference. To be with a lover who actually cared for him…

Agron’s thrusts faltered as he saw a single tear escape down Nasir’s cheek. “What’s wrong?” He used a thumb to wipe it away.

Nasir shook his head fervently. He wrapped both legs around Agron’s waist, clasped hands on the back of Agron’s neck, and pulled his man down for a fierce kiss. While they were still joined, Nasir rolled until Agron lay beneath him. Smiling at the new position, Agron’s hands squeezed his thighs and allowed him to set his own pace.

He delighted in the play of muscles on Agron’s upper body, stroking every inch he could lay hands on with hungry fingertips. How did he become the one who got to spend his life with this beautifully kindhearted man? He was a slave who touched the heavens.

“I like that you’re doing me like this,” Nasir panted.

Agron skimmed his hands up Nasir’s sides, staring at him as though he were unspeakably precious. “Like what?”

Nasir leaned down to press a kiss to his lips. “Face to face.”

As he neared orgasm, he found difficulty in maintaining a steady rhythm. Nasir braced himself against Agron’s chest while Agron grabbed his hips to once again take control of the thrusts.

How much pleasure could one body experience before splintering into oblivion? Nasir thought he might discover his limit as Agron pumped up into him. Then, when Agron brought one hand to his throbbing erection, he released for the second time after only a couple swift tugs to his sex.

Agron ground his teeth to prevent himself following Nasir into bliss. But he would feel him a few moments more. Nasir fell next to him on the bed. Agron kissed him hotly before covering him from behind.

Nasir shuddered and his lips stretched into a silent scream as Agron entered him again. His movements were swift and all Nasir could do was lie tucked into him and receive him. He reached behind with one hand so fingers could dig into Agron’s hip as he continued to thrust.

Agron bit the back of Nasir’s neck as he climaxed, maintaining his rhythm until he was drained.

Expending every last ounce of energy he yet possessed, Nasir turned to face Agron, who immediately leaned in for a leisurely kiss. He smiled broadly when Agron draped an arm and a leg across his body. Only in Agron’s protective embrace had he ever felt safe and wanted, not for his body, but for his true self. 

Nasir burrowed deeper in his arms as Agron pressed his lips to the crown of his head. He sighed in contentment before he remembered the wine he’d brought.

“Drink?” He lifted his head feebly, trying to remember where he’d set the jug down.

Agron cupped his face in tender hands. “Your kisses intoxicate me aplenty.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and for your kind encouragement and support!


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